The One With Rough Seas
by Jana
Summary: Alternative Universe! Chandler is perfectly happy with his hum drum existence, until he meets someone that puts his entire life into a whole different perspective. Chapter 20 of 20! Chapter 16 available on personal webpage only.
1. Intro

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Intro

**XXX**

Chandler Bing's life, as it was, was just fine by him. Thought to be boring by some, peaceful by others, he was the proprietor of Central Perk, a sometimes busy, moderately successful coffeehouse nestled on the outskirts of Central Park in bustling New York City, New York.

Whether boring, or peaceful, or something else entirely, he was comfortable with his existence. A steady group of regulars graced his establishment pretty much daily, keeping the books in the black, though some months, just barely.

He lived in the apartment building located next door to his business, that he shared with his occasionally employed actor friend Joey Tribbiani. Right across the hall lived his other very close friends, Rachel Green – one of several waitresses who worked for him, and Phoebe Buffay – the eccentric hired talent.

Exciting was fine for some, but stable and predictable was just where he wanted to be. Interesting days, periodically free nights, and a great group of friends to enjoy it all with.

Life is what you make of it, that was his philosophy, and rocking the boat just wasn't in his nature. Little did he know, his vessel was about to hit extremely rough seas.

**TBC**

Author's note:

This is a very short intro, just to establish the alternative universe I'm creating. Don't worry, Monica and Ross will be jumping in near immediately. If you like Ross as a character, you will not like what I do with him in this universe. Just an FYI there.

Let's see those reviews, folks! They amp me creatively and then you get the next chapter faster!

MTLBYAKY


	2. Chapter 1

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 1

**XXX**

--The hustle and bustle of the city seemed a world away from inside Central Perk. People kicking back after a hard day's work, couples on dates, and friends catching up after weeks of busy schedules kept them apart all added to the soft din of noise that was at least partly responsible for the slight smile that graced Chandler's face.

Also lending to his good mood, was the friend sitting beside him on the ratty orange couch that had been the coffeehouse's focal point since the day the doors opened. To call her unique would be putting it mildly, but her odd outlook on life just made her more endearing, in Chandler's way of thinking.

"Can you believe it?" Phoebe exclaimed, bringing Chandler out of his retrospect. "The stupid thing ate my tape!"

"That sucks, Pheebs," Chandler said in support of a story he only half heard. "So, do you have a new song for tonight?"

Phoebe stopped tuning her guitar and almost glared back at him. "Weren't you listening?" she asked, sounding slightly offended. "My new song tonight is about how my VCR ate my favorite tape!"

"Sorry," he apologized, hiding a ghost of a smirk, "Guess I missed that part."

With a shrug and a smile, she forgave him easily, then went back to attending to her guitar.

"Guys!" Joey announced himself seconds after bounding through the door, heading straight for his friends. "Guess what!" He dropped his backpack at his feet as he dropped his body in the chair to the left of couch, almost giddy and bursting to share his news.

"Oooh," Phoebe chirped, giving Joey her undivided attention, "I **love** guessing games! Is it bigger than a bread box?"

"Phoebe," Chandler laughed, "I think Joey was speaking rhetorically." When both scowled back at him in confusion, he laughed again. "He wasn't expecting you to **actually** guess, Pheebs," he explained, and Joey nodded in agreement.

"What are we talking about?" Rachel asked as she stepped over with the coffee pot to offer Chandler and Phoebe a warm up.

"Joey has news," Chandler answered, thanking his friend and waitress for the refill.

"He doesn't want us to guess though," Phoebe added, seemingly disappointed. "He just wants to tell us."

"Ok, so, tell us," Rachel suggested as she sat on the arm of the couch, and all eyes were on Joey in anticipation.

"Estelle got me an audition!" he exclaimed, smiling back at his friends expectantly. "Isn't that great!?" he asked, prompting them to congratulate him.

"Awesome, Joe," Chandler said, asking, "What's the part?"

"Janitor who pushes broom!" Joey announced proudly. "Only one line, but it's on 'Days of our Lives'!"

"What's the line?" Phoebe asked him, smiling at his genuine enthusiasm.

As if needing a moment to prepare, Joey closed his eyes in concentration, then opened them and delivered his line. "Excuse me, please."

"Very believable," Rachel praised him, adding, "You're on in about 10 minutes, Pheebs."

"Thanks, Rache," Phoebe acknowledged her, then turned and said to Joey, "Great line! Good luck on the audition!"

Joey thanked her, then looked to Chandler for his input.

"Sounds like a great part," Chandler told his friend supportively.

Joey beamed. "Thanks, man. And hey," he then asked, "Would it be ok if I swept up around here a bit? You know, for research?"

Chandler had to force himself not to laugh. "You need to research sweeping? You know, Joe, you **have** swept before. This part won't be **that** big of a stretch for you, will it?"

Joey shrugged. "I just want to be prepared."

"Ok," Chandler agreed to his request. "I'm not paying you though."

**X**

-- The last of the patrons had meandered out the door nearly thirty minutes previously, leaving Chandler, his friends, and Gunther, the pale-haired Dutchman Chandler often called his 'foofy coffee Guru' alone in the now quiet coffeehouse.

Phoebe was seated in the chair to the left of the couch, casually strumming on her guitar, Joey was seated on the couch itself, his head back, snoring lightly as he had fallen asleep, and Chandler, Rachel, and Gunther moved about, performing pre-close duties.

"I don't think we're gonna see any more customers tonight," Chandler stated nonchalantly. "Why don't we just go ahead and close up."

"You're the boss," Gunther returned as he fiddled with the large gold expresso machine.

Chandler gave the man a light friendly pat on the back. "As soon as you're done with that, you can clock out and go home." Gunther simply nodded.

"You want me to tally the register?" Rachel asked, kicking off her shoes and sighing at the relief doing so gave her.

"Sure," Chandler said, pushing the buttons needed to pop open the cash drawer, immediately handing it over to her. As she walked away with it, towards the office in the back, Chandler's eyes landed on his slumbering friend. With a tired smile, he plopped down next to Joey, right up against him, then nudged him with the express purpose of waking him.

"What?" Joey asked groggily, forgetting his surroundings for a moment.

"You fell asleep," Chandler laughed. "Go on upstairs now," he suggested. "I'll be up in a few."

Joey mumbled something indiscernible, then stood, snatched his backpack off the floor, slung it over one shoulder, and headed for the door. "Night, Pheebs," he mumbled, leaving without waiting for a response.

"He could sleep anywhere," Phoebe mused, placing her guitar in its case.

"True," Chandler agreed, then asked, "Working on a new song?"

She shrugged. "Just practicing some chords."

"Head on home, Pheebs," he instructed, sensing she was worn out by how unusually quiet she was being. "Rachel's right behind you."

"Yeah," she agreed easily, suppressing a yawn. "Night."

He watched her leave before pushing off the couch and joining Gunther behind the counter. "I can finish up here," he told him. "Why don't you walk Rachel home for me."

The smile that crossed the man's face made Chandler instantly smirk, but he quickly hid it. Could he **be** any more in love with her, he thought to himself, grabbing a clean rag and a spray bottle of cleaner from under the counter.

"All tallied and ready for bank deposit," Rachel announced as she entered from the back. "Where'd they go?" she asked, noticing the room was missing two of their friends.

"Home," Chandler answered. "You go too," he said with the authority of a boss and the kindness of a friend. "Gunther will walk with you."

She smiled at her coworker as he retrieved her coat and held it out for her to slip into. "See'ya tomorrow," she called over her shoulder after grabbing her shoes off the ground and heading for the door.

Chandler nodded indistinctly in their general direction, then began the chore of closing duties.

A tired yet happy sigh escaped him as he wiped the granite countertop, barely glancing at the door when he heard it open, the bell attached to it jingling.

"Sorry, we're closed," he informed, still on task.

"My watch says I still have eight minutes," the voice countered, almost imploring him not to kick her out.

Chandler looked at his watch before giving the stranger his attention. When his eyes landed on her, he literally gasped. Instantly, and without question, he realized she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, short of models and actresses.

"We closed up a few minutes early," he explained, noticing finally that she was dripping wet. Must be raining, he thought briefly, then made her an offer. "My coffee guru went home for the night, but if you're ok with regular no frills coffee, I could get you a cup of that."

She smiled gratefully. "Thanks. That's fine."

Moving quickly, he poured her a cup, then set it on the counter as she approached.

"Raining, eh?" he asked, then laughed at the odd expression she threw at him. "Either that, or you just came from a swim meet, huh?" The joke sounded lame to his own ears, but she cracked a smile as she took a seat on the barstool in front of the mug he had seconds before placed there.

"So," he tried again to start up a conversation, "What'cha doin' out at this time of night?"

"I'm always out at this time of night," she answered simply, adding, "I'm waiting for my ride."

"Ah. Well, you can wait in here, out of the rain," he offered, stammering slightly, "Till they show. If you want."

"Thanks."

The silence made seconds seem like minutes, and he knew with how flustered he was, there was no way he would have the courage to ask her out on a date, no matter how much he wanted to. And he **did** want to.

"Don't let me stop you from your cleanup," she said, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Oh," he said, snatching the rag and cleaner off the counter and putting it back underneath, "I'm done. I'm Chandler, by the way." He extended his hand, and she shook it politely, but said nothing in response.

It was then that he noticed. "Hey! You're bleeding!"

Yanking her hand away, she dropped it to her lap, hiding it from view. "It's nothing," she insisted. "Just a little scratch."

"Now maybe," he said, spinning around and retrieving the first aid kit from off the wall, where it hung for the benefit of his employees. "But if you don't take care of it, it could go septic."

"Really," she insisted again, her voice quivering slightly, "I'm fine."

Rounding the counter, he stood before her, reaching for her hand after placing the box kit down and opening it. "At least let me wipe it up and put a band-aid on it," he requested of her, meeting her eyes.

Reluctantly, she held out her hand, watching him intently as he went to work.

"You have a very gentle touch," she whispered, and he smiled as he finished tending to her.

"Thanks."

The look between them that followed seemed heady with sexual tension, and without giving thought to the possible consequences, he started to lean in, wanting so badly to kiss her that he almost ached.

Abruptly, he was denied his wish as a man stormed through the door. With his entrance, the woman startled, looking almost frightened.

"Took you long enough," she muttered, hopping off the stool and heading towards him.

"Who's that?" the man asked, glaring at Chandler, making him instantly ill at ease.

"No one," the woman answered, leading the way out the door. "He works here."

The man tore his angry gaze from Chandler and fell in line behind the woman as they stepped up to a car parked right outside.

Confused, Chandler followed. Not knowing what else to do or say, he called out to her, "I didn't get your name."

The woman stared back almost apologetically before the man slammed the door, turning to glare at him once again.

"Is there a problem?" Chandler asked awkwardly, his eyes darting back and forth between the man standing and the woman seated in the car.

The man rolled his eyes and scoffed, rounded the car, slipped into the driver's seat, turned the engine over, and sped away, all in about thirty seconds time.

Helpless to do anything but, Chandler watched the car disappear down the street, confused and concerned. It wasn't until the rain seeped into his shirt, chilling him, that he walked back into his empty coffeehouse to finish cleaning and lock up.

**TBC**

Author's note:

Chapter seems a little boring maybe, or slow, but I'm establishing just how hum drum Chandler's life is. It's about to get a whole lot more interesting, believe me!

Chapter two will be a bit shorter than this one, it seems, but the rest should be about this length, and it's looking like at least 13 chapters on this one, maybe more. The outline I have been creating is up to 12 chapters, and I have a lot more to do after what I have outlined.

Ok, so, let's see those reviews, eh? For those who don't know me, reviews fuel my creativity! If you want the next chapter, I need to see those reviews!

MTLBYAKY


	3. Chapter 2

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 2

XXX 

--Chandler only went through the motions of his day, his mind on the events of the previous night distracting him from performing even simple tasks.

The woman seemed scared of the man when he had first barged in, Chandler was completely certain of that, but then when she addressed him a mere moment later, she spoke almost flippantly to him. But with as angry as the man seemed, he didn't even flinch when she had.

Even before the man showed up, Chandler thought further back, her behavior seemed off. Begging him to let her stay, then becoming almost distant. Smiling at his attempt at humor, shaking his hand impassively when he introduced himself, then declining to give her own name in return.

Then, the almost kiss. Adrenalin was coursing through him so fast, he couldn't really remember much beyond leaning in, and the feeling of anticipation as his lips hovered inches from hers.

It was completely surreal, and the most interesting turn of events that had ever happened to him, since the age of nine, when his parents announced they were getting a divorce and his mom outed his dad and the Polynesian houseboy.

His odd behavior and near-constant scowl didn't go unnoticed by his friends, however. Concerned for him, they ganged up on him, demanding he sit for a moment and talk with them about whatever was on his mind.

Unsure of where to begin at first, Chandler slumped forward as he took a seat on the orange couch, his elbows on his knees, his head hung low. How could he explain it, when even **he** didn't understand it.

"Last night," he finally began, "After everyone left, a woman-- **the** most beautiful woman I have ever seen in real life, came in to get out of the rain, and to wait for her ride. At first, she seemed, maybe, I don't know, unapproachable. Or maybe just shy. But, she had this cut on her hand, and when I offered to clean it and bandage it--"

"There was this moment between us," he continued after trailing off, "Where I actually thought, we might kiss." Ignoring Rachel's gasp of surprise, he added, "But before anything happened, this guy walked in."

"What guy?" Phoebe asked, completely enthralled with the story he was telling.

"I don't know who he was," Chandler admitted. "But he seemed really angry, and she seemed almost frightened of him. She left with him," he sighed.

"Maybe he's her boyfriend or husband," Joey offered, but Chandler shook his head.

"No wedding band," he replied, leaning back against the couch cushions and running his hand through his hair in frustration.

"Still could be a boyfriend," Phoebe added, asking, "Why does this have you so bothered?"

"I don't know," Chandler muttered. "I can't explain it. I mean, besides the connection I felt towards her, I think she might be in trouble, somehow."

"Did you get a name?" Rachel asked, trying to be helpful. "Cause the cops could go check on her maybe--"

"I didn't," Chandler interrupted. "I asked. Twice. She avoided answering the first time and the man slammed her car door and sped away when I asked the second time, before she could answer. If she even intended to answer."

"So, what are you going to do?" Joey asked, concerned more for his friend than the mystery woman he spoke of.

With a shrug, Chandler muttered, "Close tonight, and hope she comes back?"

"That's a bit of a long shot," Rachel stated pessimistically.

"Maybe not," Phoebe countered. "When you were about to kiss her, did she look like she was leaning in or backing away?"

"Leaning," Chandler answered after a moment's thought.

"What will you do if that guy **is** her boyfriend?" Joey asked curiously.

"Forget about her," Chandler replied distantly. "What else **can** I do?"

"Well," Rachel advised as she stood to get back to work, "If she **does** come back, get her name."

**X**

--It was five minutes till closing, and the mystery woman still hadn't arrived. Chandler sent his staff and friends home early, even earlier than he had the night before, hoping to closely recreate the conditions that brought her to him in the first place.

Sticking to the routine of cleaning and closing, he kept one eye on the door, counting the register at the customer counter, instead of the back office, like he usually did, so that he wouldn't miss her if she showed.

Completing every task, he hovered about with nothing to do. Nothing, but wait. Twenty minutes after closing, a time when he should be locking the doors and heading for his apartment, and still he stayed. Hope was dwindling, however, and he let out a sigh as he prepared to accept the fact that she obviously wasn't coming.

It was a mere minute later, after he resolved himself to the idea that he would probably never see her again, that she entered.

He stared back at her as she stood by the door, hugging herself as if nervous; it was several moments later before she finally spoke.

"I wanted to thank you," she near-whispered, "For your kindness last night."

"I didn't really do anything **that** spectacular," he replied, taking a cautious step forward. Why did she look so scared? Why did it look like she was set to run off at any moment?

"It's more than anyone else has done for me, believe me," she told him.

"Who was that man you left with?" he asked quickly, before he lost his nerve. Before she ran off and he lost his chance.

Looking away, she didn't answer, a scowl appearing on her otherwise anxious expression.

"Is he your boyfriend?" he pressed further, wondering a second later how far he should push for answers.

She shook her head. "Brother," she answered, initiating eye contact once again.

"Is he always so angry?" he asked, taking another cautious step towards her.

With a slight shrug, she muttered, "Usually."

How it could possibly help, he wasn't exactly sure, but he suddenly found himself offering to lend his ear to her problems. "Would you, like to come in for a bit, and maybe talk? Have a cup of coffee? No charge, of course."

"Can't," she answered as her gaze dropped to the floor. "I cant stay."

"Can I help you with anything?" he asked awkwardly, unsure of how to broach the subject, or get her to open up. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Her reaction was like someone had fired off a gun, startling her. She stared back for a brief moment, a look of near-horror on her face, then she shook her head sharply as she announced, "I shouldn't have come."

He could see her glance behind her at the door, and he knew she was preparing to run. "Why?" he asked, almost desperate now to find a way to keep her from fleeing. "Maybe I can help?"

She shook her head, almost violently. "You can't help," she said, her voice almost strangled sounding. Before he could speak again, she was turning towards the door.

"Wait!" he exclaimed as her hand touched the knob. She stopped, but didn't turn to face him. "What's your name?" he asked softly, thinking for a moment, that it was unlikely she would answer.

Seconds ticked by in slow motion before she finally whispered, "Monica." As soon as she said it, she was out the door and running down the street.

Only pausing for a moment due to shock, Chandler quickly bolted out the door and started after her. He called her name, begged her to stop, but she didn't even slow down. Half a block down the street, he realized he couldn't leave his business unlocked and unattended.

Slowing to a stop, he watched her disappear from sight before whispering to himself, "What's your story, Monica?"

Several minutes later, as he approached the coffeehouse doors, ready to step inside, a car screeched up to the curb behind him. He spun around, immediately locking eyes with the angry man from the night before.

"Coffee boy!" the man bit at him, "Where's Monica?"

Chandler scowled back at him, quickly deciding, though he wasn't exactly sure why, that lying would be best. "I told her we were closed. She left."

The man glared at him for a moment, almost as if trying to determine something, then slipped back into his car and sped off.

Chandler sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair as he muttered, "Whatever her story is, it definitely involves **him**."

**TBC**

Author's note:

Ok, maybe it's cause I haven't been writing for a while, but the reviews seem a little sparse to me. I know, some of you will say: hey, at least you **get** reviews! Believe me, I am very grateful for the reviews I **do** get, but, you see, reviews make me whole. I feel like half a person when I don't get them.

So, please, do me a favor, if you read this, or anything I've written, just take a quick sec and click the button and review it. Doesn't have to be much. If you like it, just say "I like it." If you don't like it, just say "I don't like it." You don't have to elaborate, or give reasons, though I **love** the reviews that go into detail. But if you don't feel like it, you don't have to. Any quick little note will do.

Ok, so, this chapter is a wee bit short, and I think the next couple will be about the same, but after **that**, they will definitely be longer. Also, the rating **will** change on this story to 'M' or 'R' at about chapter 7, so if you don't want to lose track of this story when that happens, put it on alert.

Thanks for reading, and don't forget to click the button and make me whole!

MTLBYAKY


	4. Chapter 3

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 3

XXX 

--It was like his brain was on overload, trying to put together some vast puzzle with far too few pieces. Different from before, where his friends had to almost force him to talk about his encounter with the mystery woman, this time, he sought them and their opinions out.

"Her name is Monica," he shared, "And the guy, was her brother. But something still seems really wrong!" he added, flustered. "He was nowhere around, when she came in, but she was still acting scared. She wouldn't even take two steps away from the door! And when I asked her if she was in trouble, she freaked out and ran!"

Seeing his concern for this total stranger, Phoebe moved from the chair she had been seated in, over to the couch where Chandler sat, placing her hand on his knee in support and sympathy.

"You know," she offered, "From just the little you've told us, it sounds to me like she might be a victim of abuse."

Sighing, he nodded. "The thought crossed my mind. But, why would she be scared, even when he wasn't around? And why would she be brave enough to snip at him, that first night, if she **was** so frightened of him?"

"All questions you're probably going to have to ask her, if you really want the answers," Phoebe told him. "How involved are you willing to get?"

After a moment's reflection, he groaned. "Ugh! I don't know! I know, I can't stop thinking about her. I can't stop seeing her frightened face, even in my dreams! If she needs help, shouldn't I at least **try** to?"

"She has to want help, Chandler," Phoebe said softly. "You can't force it on her."

"Try to get her last name," Rachel suggested, "Then just call the police and let **them** help her."

Joey nodded in agreement. "Rachel's right! This isn't your problem!"

"Joey," Chandler sighed, "I can't just abandon someone in need!"

"Which is what makes you such a great guy," Phoebe interjected. "But, Chandler, how far will you go to help her? Especially if she doesn't want help?"

"I think she does," Chandler told them. "I think that's why she's been coming in. I think she's just scared to ask for it."

"She didn't have to ask," Rachel reminded him. "You offered. She ran."

"Because she's scared, Rache!" Chandler shot back out of frustration.

"Of **you**?" Joey asked, sounding confused.

Phoebe shook her head. "Abuse can change the way you see things. You don't know who you can trust, so you don't trust anyone."

Rachel sighed. "I still say you should let the police handle it."

"I agree with Rachel," Joey announced, and Chandler looked to each of them in turn before his eyes landed on Phoebe.

Phoebe offered a slight smile before telling him, "You're invested now. She's in your soul. You won't be able to rest until you at least try." It was an observation, not a question, but Chandler nodded all the same.

"How do I reach her, Pheebs?" he asked, his concern for the woman named Monica evident in his tone.

"Don't ask too many questions," she advised him. "And don't push for answers, if she seems reluctant to give them. If she **is** a victim of abuse, you bombarding her with questions and demanding answers will seem like an attack. Show her that you're willing to listen, if she wants to talk, but that you're not going to force her to."

"How do I do that?" he asked. "Where do I start?"

Phoebe smiled. "Ask her how she's doing."

**X**

--Once again Chandler found himself alone in his empty coffeehouse, waiting for a woman he didn't even know for sure would show.

Closing duties already completed at a quarter till eleven, he sat on the couch with a cup of coffee, hoping that the somewhat casual stance would put Monica more at ease, if she did stop in.

When he heard the bell on the door jingle nearly ten minutes later, he knew it was her before he even turned around. She stayed by the door, staring back at him, and he dropped his eyes as he offered a simple "Hi."

"Hi," she near whispered, her position cemented. "Am I disturbing you?"

"No," he answered, standing and heading for the counter with his used and empty mug. "Just relaxing for a few minutes before heading for home." He set the cup down, then turned to face her. "So, um, how are you?"

Her brow crinkled as she answered flatly, "Spectacular."

Strike one, he thought to himself, then asked, "Would you like a cup of coffee? Maybe, sit and chat a bit?"

She shook her head. Strike two.

"Can I, **help you**, with, anything?" he asked haltingly, just trying to find a way of opening a dialog with her.

She shrugged. Strike three. Phoebe's ideas were a bust. He would have to try a more direct approach.

"Your brother," he asked cautiously, "How do you get along with him?"

"I don't, most days," she answered. He was getting somewhere.

"Why's that?" he asked, but she again shook her head.

One step forward, one step back.

"I don't know how to do this tactfully, Monica," he admitted, "So I'm just gonna come right out and ask you. Is your brother abusing you?"

There was that expression again. Fear, and the desire to flee.

"Please, don't run away!" he begged her. "I only want to help."

"You can't help," she told him, backing towards the door.

He nodded, taking several slow steps forward. "But, there are others who can. The police-"

"No," she interrupted, shaking her head.

"Monica," he said her name firmly, "If he's abusing you, you have to get away from him!"

"He's the only family I have left," she explained somberly. "I have nowhere else to go."

"They have shelters for battered women-"

"No," she interrupted again. "He would find me."

The pain in her eyes was too much to bear. Rashly, he announced, "I'm calling the police."

"No!" she cried, lunging towards him. "No, Chandler, you can't," she pleaded with him desperately, clinging to his arm to physically stop him from picking up the business phone that sat atop the counter.

Slowly, he reached out, brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek consolingly. "There are people who can help you, Monica," he whispered. "It's ok to ask for help."

Before she could respond, he leaned in, touching his lips lightly to hers. Accepting only passively at first, it took several moments for her to react. To return his gentle affection.

But as quickly as it began, it ended. She stepped back, a myriad of emotions clouding her stare.

"I can't," she told him, backing away. "I shouldn't have come back."

"Why?" he asked, matching her steps, her one backwards, him one forwards. Their eyes remained locked.

"I can't, Chandler, please," she choked out as tears began to well.

"Let me help you, Monica," he asked of her, but she shook her head.

As soon as her back touched the door, she reached out for the knob. "You don't understand," she told him.

"Then explain it to me," he said, stopping his approach.

"I can't," she insisted, adding, "Please, just, forget I was here."

"I can't do that," he stated dejectedly. "I can't get you out of my brain."

She shook her head, tears splashing onto her cheeks. "You **have** to," she told him, then turned the knob and sprinted out the door.

Bolting after her, he stood near the entrance of the coffeehouse, on the sidewalk in front, watching as she ran from him.

"Monica! Wait! Come back!" he yelled into the night, but the effort was futile. She disappeared down the street, leaving a frustrated Chandler staring after her.

"Shit!" he cursed uncharacteristically, then turned back towards his business. Before entering, he glanced back in the direction she fled in, then kicked at the ground, making a decision in that moment.

He walked through the door and headed straight for the counter, snatching the cordless phone off its base and clicking the on button. When he heard the dial tone, he punched in 4-1-1.

"Hi," he said to the operator who took his call, "I need the non-emergency number for the police department, please."

**TBC**

Author's note:

Ok, this chapter is a wee bit smaller than I thought it would be, so, I'm sorry about that. I think they will all vary in length quite a bit, actually, so, I apologize for the lack of consistency there. With this story, I'm kinda writing it off a detailed outline of each chapter, and chapter content is where my focus is, not length or word count.

Hoping we're still liking this! Please review and let me know!

MTLBYAKY


	5. Chapter 4

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 4

XXX 

--"A first name, a general description, no real admittance that a crime had actually occurred-- the police said it just wasn't enough to go on," Chandler told his friends as he sipped his hot coffee carefully.

"I blew it!" he chastised himself. "I was too pushy! And then I went and stupid kissed her! I scared her away! It's been three days! She's never coming back." The last sentence was much softer, sadness edging in to mix with self directed anger as he placed his mug on the coffee table and flung himself back, to lean against the ugly orange couch cushions.

"She still might come back, Chandler," Phoebe offered optimistically. "She's been here three times now. There's a reason for it, I'd bet you anything! She's looking for help. Or," she added, "At the very least, she's looking to gain courage to do what she has to on her own."

"But she never actually said she was being abused?" Joey asked, to which Chandler shook his head. "Then, why are you so sure she **is**?"

Chandler sighed. "Things that **were** said. The expression on her face. Trust me, Joe, if she's **not** being abused, whatever **is** happening, is worse."

Joey's brow crinkled. "What could be worse?"

Shuddering, Chandler whispered, "I don't even want to think."

"You **need** to get her last name," Rachel interjected, sounding somewhat irritated.

Chandler sighed. He knew Rachel, and Joey too, for that matter, didn't want him getting involved in whatever was going on between brother and sister, but he also recognized it for what it was. Concern for **him**, their friend.

"I can't **force** her to tell me her name, Rachel," he returned, closely copying the tone she had just used with him.

"And who's to say she wouldn't just lie and give you a **fake** name?" Joey said, snapping his fingers a second later as he added, "Maybe Monica isn't **really** her **first** name!"

Chandler groaned. "We're just getting further away from an answer, instead of closer."

"Maybe we should wait with you tonight," Phoebe suggested. "If she shows, we could **all** talk to her."

Typical for Phoebe, she was far more open and understanding of Chandler's inexplicable need to help Monica, and unlike the other two of his friends, actually offered advice and suggestions.

"I appreciate the offer, Pheebs," Chandler said with a sigh, "But I don't think she'll come in if she sees others here."

"What will you do if she doesn't come in tonight?" Rachel asked, "Or ever?"

"Just keep closing late till she does?" Chandler answered, asking a question of his own, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders. Truth was, he didn't know **what** he was going to do, if she never came back.

"But, Chandler," Rachel asked with a slightly exasperated sigh, "How far are you willing to go here? How much of **your** life, are you willing to give up, for a woman you don't really even know?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly, looking a little like a scolded puppy. "I just know, for right **now**, I have to try."

"We'll support whatever decision you make on this," Phoebe promised, speaking for all of them. "We'll help you, however we can. Just, don't lose **yourself** in this, ok?"

He nodded. "I won't. And thanks."

"You know what you should do?" Joey asked suddenly. "You should set up a hidden camera. A **video** camera. That way, you'll have something to show the police."

"Actually, that's not a bad idea," Rachel seconded the suggestion. "If you can get her to admit to the abuse on camera, the cops will be more willing to help."

"You really think that'll work?" Chandler asked, slightly skeptical, but also hopeful.

"Sure couldn't hurt," Phoebe chimed in.

"I'll go upstairs and get it," Joey offered, then pushed off the chair to the right of the couch and headed for the door, acknowledging the thank you Chandler gave him as he did.

"Now, the question is," Chandler muttered to himself, "Where do I put it?"

**X**

--Chandler remained behind the counter, a coffee cup at the ready, one eye on his watch, the other on the door. As it neared midnight, he convinced himself that she wasn't coming, and began to fish his keys out of his pocket so he could lock up and go home.

That's when he heard the distinct jingle of the bell, indicating someone had just entered. He glanced up slowly, forcing himself not to smile when he saw her.

"Hi," she whispered. "I wasn't sure you'd still be here."

"I was waiting for you," he admitted, then turned away from her, discreetly hitting the record button on the hidden camera before moving to pour her a cup of coffee.

"Why?" she asked, remaining by the door.

"I just wanted to be sure you were alright," he answered, setting the full mug on the counter as an invitation for her to join him.

Slowly, she approached. "I wanted to apologize to you," she said as she took a seat on one of the barstools, the counter the only thing separating her from him. "For running off the other night," she added.

"It's ok," he accepted. "I'm sorry too. For scaring you."

"Scaring me?" she asked, seemingly perplexed.

"The kiss," he explained. "I'm sorry if it scared you."

"It didn't," she told him, blushing a second later.

He smiled when he saw the redness color her cheeks, but the expression fell to something more serious as he asked her, "Your brother-- He **is** mistreating you, isn't he?" When she didn't answer, he suggested, "If you can't say the words, could you just, maybe, nod or shake your head?"

Initiating eye contact with him, she stared back intently, almost communicating silently. He got the strong impression she wanted him to ask the question again, so he did.

"Monica, is your brother abusing you?"

She nodded.

"Monica, please, let me call the police," he beseeched, but she immediately shook her head. "Why not?"

"They can't protect me from all of it," she answered timidly.

"All of what?" he asked, and even though she was shaking her head at him, he continued questioning her. "What is he doing to you? Are there others involved?"

"Stop, please," she begged him, looking to be on the verge of tears.

Sighing, he leaned against the counter, touching her hand cautiously. "Just give me your last name, and I'll call for you. He never has to know you were involved in turning him in."

"Too complicated," she squeaked out.

"In what way?" he asked her.

"In **every** way," she answered.

"Monica!" The sound of the man's booming voice startled both of them to jump. "What are you doing here?" he challenged her, and she hopped off the barstool to approach him.

"Drinking coffee," she answered with a hint of sarcasm. "Unclench."

"Branching out on your own, are we?" he asked snidely.

"No," she said flatly, glancing back at Chandler before adding, "The coffee is just really good here."

The man pushed Monica aside and took several menacing steps towards Chandler. "What are you hoping to accomplish here, coffee boy?" the man snipped, pointing between Chandler and Monica before landing back on Chandler.

Keeping his expression and tone as neutral as possible under the circumstances, he said, "I'm just here serving coffee."

The man glared hard for a moment, then scoffed and spun around, grabbing Monica by the arm. "You are to **never** come back here again!" he demanded of her. "Do I make myself clear?"

Chandler had to suppress the urge to jump over the counter and punch the man dead in the face.

"Ok, ok," Monica agreed, her tone a cross between or mix of fear and irritation.

"And **you**!" the man turned his attention back to Chandler, still gripping Monica's upper arm so tightly, her skin was turning white where his fingertips dug in. "Stay away from my sister!"

With that, the man proceeded to drag Monica out onto the street, towards the waiting car, Chandler hot on their heels.

As soon as the man shoved Monica roughly into the front passengers seat, Chandler stepped up and tapped the man on the shoulder.

He had no idea what he was doing, he just knew he had to do **something**.

"What?" the man barked, and for a split second, Chandler thought the guy was going to hit him.

Struggling to find an answer to the one word question asked, an answer that wouldn't cause more trouble for Monica, he blurted out the first semi-logical benign sentence he could think of.

"She owes me two-fifty for the coffee. And since she won't be coming back, I can't very well run her a tab."

Rolling his eyes, the man reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of bills, then snatched a five out of the middle and whipped it at Chandler.

"Keep the change," he sneered, then slammed Monica's door, climbed into the driver's seat, turned the engine over, and peeled out down the street.

When the car was out of sight, Chandler kicked at the five dollar bill on the ground before stepping back into the coffeehouse. He quickly rounded the counter, pulled the video camera out of hiding, hit stop, then ejected the tape.

"I think I need to call an emergency meeting," he muttered to himself. "This can't wait till morning."

**TBC**

Author's note:

Ok, let me reiterate, if you like Ross as a character, you will **not** like what I do with him in this alternative universe. More on that in future chapter author's notes.

May seem to be going a bit slow, but I'm building to something here, so, bear with me. It will become clearer, as the chapters progress.

Next chapter will have some humor in it, just to break up all the dark drama a tiny bit, but by chapter's end, we'll be back to angst.

Thank you so much for the reviews. I haven't been writing for a while, and I feel a little rusty at it. Good to know it's still, at least, readable.

So, don't stop the love now! Review, please! And MTLBYAKY!


	6. Chapter 5

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 5

**XXX**

--"You were right," Phoebe told a pacing Chandler, "Something is **very** wrong here."

"I told you!" Chandler exclaimed, his arms folded across his chest as he continued his unproductive walk around Phoebe and Rachel's living room.

"You need to take this tape to the police, like, **now**," Rachel advised, and while that was typically her advice when it came to this particular issue, this time, it was suggested with genuine concern for the woman in the video's safety.

Her tone showing no sign of the exasperation it usually held surprised Chandler into stopping abruptly, asking, "Do you think it's enough for them to actually **do** something?"

As his eyes landed on each of his friends in turn, they offered him a nod, their faces as serious as he had ever remembered seeing them.

Amped from the earlier events at the coffeehouse, and by his friends' complete support, Chandler sprang into action, grabbing his coat off the arm of the couch and then swiftly moving to grab the tape from the VCR. When hitting the eject button repeatedly didn't produce the tape, he turned to Phoebe and scowled. "It won't eject."

Phoebe's eyes grew wide, and she leapt off the couch, quickly joining him. "Oh, crap! It did it again!"

"Did what again?" Chandler asked, knowing by the tone she used, that he was **not** going to like her answer.

"The stupid thing ate another tape!" she announced, hitting the top of the machine several times in succession.

"It's done this **before**?" he asked in irritated shock.

Phoebe looked over at him, ceasing all other movement, an indignant expression replacing the one of alarm. "Do you even **listen** to me when I'm performing?" she asked him, adding, "Remember? The song about how my VCR ate my favorite movie?"

"Oh, my God!" Chandler snipped, taking over where she left off in hitting the mechanical tape-napper.

Remembering the situation at hand, Phoebe dropped her displeasure over her friend not listening to or remembering her songs and rejoined him in his state of near panic.

"First _Howard the Duck_," she scolded her machine, "Now **this**!"

"Who?" Chandler asked distractedly as he picked up the VCR and started shaking it almost violently.

"_Howard the Duck_?" Phoebe repeated. "Lea Thompson? Falls in love with a duck from another dimension?"

Chandler stared back at her for a mere moment, flabbergasted by the subject detour she was suddenly taking. "Pheebs!" he barked, "Focus!"

"Right!" she exclaimed as she shook her head and gave the situation her full attention again. "Joey!" As soon as she called his name, he was off the couch and at her side. "Go get a screw driver!"

"Where are they?" he asked, gearing up as they were, the distress contagious.

"Your apartment," she shot back, adding, "We're girls! We don't own tools!"

Joey nodded, then immediately headed for the door and across the hall.

"Maybe if we open it up," Phoebe suggested, "We can save the tape."

"Ok," Chandler agreed, anxious to embrace any plan that could be of help. "Good idea." He then yanked the cord out of the wall and set the bulky older machine on the coffee table nearby.

"You did this to yourself," Phoebe told her VCR, sinking to her knees, stroking the cool metal consolingly. "You'll be with your friends the toaster and the stereo soon."

Chandler and Rachel shared looks; Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Here!" Joey announced as he reentered the apartment, the small Phillips head tool extended.

"You do it," Phoebe said to Chandler. "I can't bear to."

Wasting no time, Chandler immediately went to work, but his efforts were for not. The tape was completely destroyed, munched and ripped from its casing, several sections of brown glossy ribbon shredded and torn.

"I'm sorry, Chandler," Phoebe apologized tearfully as he gathered up pieces of electronics and plastic and attempted to make a neater pile of sorts.

"It's not your fault, Pheebs," he told her, releasing her from her guilt.

"Maybe you could set the camera up again?" Rachel suggested, but Chandler shook his head.

"After the stink her brother made, I don't think she'll ever be coming back."

"Then we'll go down to the police station with you!" Joey offered intensely. "We'll tell them what we saw on the tape! They'll **have to** believe you!"

"It's not just about believing me, Joe," Chandler sighed, allowing his body to fall sitting, into the chair next to the couch. "Without the tape, we're back to just a description and no last name-"

His sentence stopped abrupt as he buried his face in his hands.

"What about the coffee cup she drank out of?" Phoebe asked, grasping at a thread of hope. "Maybe they could lift the prints-?

"I washed the cup," Chandler interrupted, his voice muffled by his palms.

"What about the brother's license plate?" Rachel interjected a suggestion, but Chandler shook his head.

"I didn't get it," he muttered with a pained groan. "We're back to square one!"

"So, we'll start scouring the streets!" Joey announced, an almost desperate quality to his tone. "Right now! Every day! Till we find her!"

"Joe, I appreciate the offer, but do you have any idea how many people there are in New York? It'd be like trying to find a needle in a **sea** of haystacks!"

"So, then, what?" Joey asked him, irritated with the situation as much as the shooting down of his idea.

Chandler shrugged. "Maybe she'll come back on her own, at some point, when her brother calms down. Until she does, there's nothing I **can** do."

**XXX**

--Days turned to weeks, and in that time, the mundane routine of Chandler's life slowly resurfaced, though it fell short of allowing him the peace it once did. Monica never left his mind. Desperate, he tried again to obtain the police department's help, but he left with the same answer he had received the first time: too little to go on.

Everywhere he went, he looked into the faces of strangers, trying to spot familiarity among them. He never did. Every raven-haired woman he saw gave him a glimmer of hope, just to have the knife of disappointment plunge into him upon realizing it wasn't her.

He scanned the newspapers and watched every news report he could, praying that when a body was discovered, it didn't match her description. There was no escape, even in dream, her face contorted in pain by the beating her brother was giving her torturing him every night.

Three weeks had passed before he finally stopped insisting on closing alone. A week later, he switched over to opening, so he could spend his nights searching for her.

Five weeks, six, and still he tried to locate her, all to no avail. His friends attempted to reason with him, to get him to at least try and move on, but he knew he couldn't. It was pointless for them to ask for the impossible,

If he lived to be one hundred, he would still die with her image clearly etched into his brain. Like Phoebe had once said, Monica was in his soul.

**X**

--"Chandler? We're out of coffee filters," Rachel informed her boss and friend, bringing him back from the far off place he had been visiting within his mind.

"K," he sighed, hopping off the stool he'd spent the last hour planted on. "I'll go in the back and get more."

He was gone less than a minute, when Rachel heard the knock on the closed and locked front door of Central Perk. At the ready to tell whoever was there that they wouldn't be open for another twenty minutes, she worked the locks and flung open the door as if on auto-pilot.

But she only managed to say the first three words of her semi-rehearsed statement, when she realized who was standing before her.

"Monica?" Rachel whispered, and the woman opposite her startled noticeably. "Oh my God," she exclaimed excitedly, "Chandler will be **so** happy to see you! Come in!" she asked of her, moving aside to allow her entry, "Chandler's just in the back--"

"I can't," Monica interrupted. "Please," she whispered, reaching into her pocket, "Just give him this for me."

Rachel took the paper being extended towards her, scowling as she said, "He **really** wants to see you, Monica. He's been worried sick."

"I can't stay," Monica insisted, but before she could do or say anything further, Rachel started yelling.

"Chandler! Get out here quick! She's here!"

Monica jumped back as if punched, then bolted down the street at a full run.

"Wait!" Rachel yelled after her, but that did no good what-so-ever.

"Rachel!" Chandler scolded as he entered from the back, "What on earth is with all the yelling? I could hear you all the way in the back!"

"But apparently not well enough!" Rachel snipped, flustered. "Monica was just here!"

He dropped the filters he was holding and ran towards and just out the door, scanning the street in both directions. "She was here?" he asked desperately. "What did she say? Which way did she go?"

"She went right," Rachel answered, "But she's long gone by now," she added dolefully.

Chandler sighed as he stepped back inside, asking her, "What did she say? How- how did she look?" He hoped she knew what he meant by that, cause he couldn't bring himself to say the exact words: Did she look like she'd been beaten?

"She looked ok, Chandler," she answered him, her tone letting him know that she knew what he was asking. "She said she couldn't come in," she then explained, extending a small square of paper towards him, "But she asked me to give you **this**."

Chandler's eyes dropped from Rachel's, to the paper in her outstretched hand, and then slowly, he reached out and plucked it from her possession.

His heart seemed to stop for an instant or two, before fluttering back to life and awakening the adrenalin that assaulted him near-daily since he'd last seen her.

Slowly, he inched open the note, attempting to focus on the words contained within it.

"I've tried so many times to see you, but he's watching me too closely now. I only have a small window of opportunity. If you want to, meet me at Crazy Fred's used car lot on Queens Blvd., tonight at midnight. Please, come alone."

**TBC**

Author's note: I got a new computer the other day-- well, it's new to me, at any rate. A neighbor got herself a new one and gave us her old one. It's a great system, but the word processing program sucks rocks. I'm hoping to have this rectified by around next Wednesday, but in the meantime, the files don't seem to be saving right. Not sure if this is detectible to you, the readers, but in case it is, I just thought I'd mention it.

ALSO! I need beta readers. Firstly, I need someone to read chapter 7 and tell me if the content warrants a ratings jump from 'T' to 'M'. Then, later down the line, I need someone to read chapter 16 and tell me if they think the content is 'M' or closer to 'NC-17'. Only volunteer for this job if you feel you have a strong understanding of what will and won't allow by these rating scores.

Ok, so, review, review, review. I see people reading it, the stats tell me that much, but what the stats **don't** tell me is, why only a fraction of people reading it are reviewing! C'mon, guys, just a quick little something! It's not too much to ask, is it?

MTLBYAKY


	7. Chapter 6

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 6

**XXX**

--Pacing nervously, Chandler glanced around him. The car lot was deserted, as was the neighborhood it sat in, no one brave enough or stupid enough to venture out and around the bad area at that time of night.

Then, to make matters worse, his watch seemed to be against him, showing that one 3 minutes had passed since the last time he'd checked it. Slapping the timepiece on his wrist in frustration, he began pacing once again.

She was more than 30 minutes late, and in his worried state, his brain began to conjure up reasons as to why. Her brother. Getting mugged. She changed her mind. Those were just a few of the scenarios his overactive imagination assaulted him with.

What would he do if she didn't show, he wondered. How long should he wait for her, himself in possible peril. He would curl up in a corner and wait till dawn, he realized, if it meant a chance at seeing her.

How had his life gotten to this place? Going from predictable and safe, to uncertain and careless? When did his priorities shift, from the ordinary day to day running of his coffeehouse, to helping a woman he didn't even know?

The second he saw her, was the answer his heart gave him.

He peered down at his watch again, the urge to chuck it across the dark lot bubbling up when it tauntingly informed him that only 2 minutes had passed.

The fact that she wasn't coming had just started to cement when he heard footsteps approaching. It was either **her**, he thought to himself, or my murderer.

Then, he saw her, silhouetted against the dim street lights, walking with purpose. His heart leapt in his chest.

"I thought maybe, you weren't coming," he said when she was closer, and within earshot.

"I was detained," she told him apologetically.

"By your brother?" he asked, but she shook her head. "By who?"

Sighing, she said, "I can't explain it to you now."

"You can't explain it to me **now**?" he asked her, hopeful over her choice of words. "Can you explain it to me **later**?"

She nodded, seemingly surprised when he moved to gather her into his arms.

"Thank you," he whispered, "For deciding to trust me. I just want to help," he added, and she nodded against his chest.

"I'm ready to **be** helped," she whispered back, melting against him. "It's been going on long enough."

"How long?" he asked cautiously, tensing slightly as he awaited her answer. Waiting to see if she even **would** answer.

The words came slowly, like with every syllable uttered, she was rethinking the decision to tell him. "Almost. Um. Eight. Years."

Shocked, he pushed her at arms length, his hands gripping her shoulders, his concerned eyes locking with hers.

"My God, Monica! That long?" His voice cracked with pain, the look on his face, his very being, expressing outrage and sympathy. "We have to go to the police, Monica," he begged her, but she shook her head as she shrugged out of his hold.

"I can't," she insisted. "Chandler, please, you don't understand, it's all about timing. The timing isn't right yet," she added, seemingly both frightened and determined to convey the importance of what she was saying.

Keeping his distance for the moment, he asked, "When **will** the timing be right?"

She exhaled sharply, as if in relief that he had stopped fighting her on the issue. "Soon," she told him. "Will you help me?" she then asked. "Even if it means doing things **my **way?"

"Yes," he said with a nod. "What do you want me to do?"

Taking the several steps needed to close the gap between them, she produced a piece of paper from her pocket and pushed it into his hand. "Meet me **here**," she asked of him. "Tomorrow night. Will you?"

He nodded. "Will you be alright? Until then?" he asked, and when she nodded, he reached out and lightly grazed his fingers across her cheek.

Slowly, and mindful of her reaction, he inched closer, his hand leaving her face to rest on her hip as his lips tentatively touched hers. Surprising to him, she responded favorably, and immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer still.

But while her body language spoke of one emotion, her lips spoke of another entirely. Her actions seemed to indicate need, or desire, while her lips remained soft, almost hesitant.

"I have to go," she breathed as she broke away. "He keeps an annoying close eye on me now."

"He's going to hurt you," he asked solemnly, "Isn't he? Cause you're here."

"He doesn't know I'm here," she told him, adding, "And it'll depend on his mood."

"I can't bear the thought of you going back to him," he said as he pulled her back into his arms. "Please, just let me take you to the police station."

She was shaking her head before he even finished his plea. "Chandler," she whispered, "I can't. He'll- He'll kill me."

Taking in a shaky breath, he held her tighter than before, but only for a few moments longer, before finally releasing her and staring urgently into her eyes. They glimmered with unshed tears, providing proof that, at the very least, **she **believed the softly spoken words to be true.

"All the more reason to get away from him," he told her, his voice calm but firm. "**Now**, before it's too late."

"I want to," she assured him, "But I can't just up and leave. If he catches on, he'll run. He'll come back to find me. The timing has to be right."

"So, can I assume then, that you have a plan?" he asked her.

"Yes. But I can't go into it here," she insisted.

"Tomorrow night?" he asked, holding up the paper she'd given him that was still clutched in his hand.

She nodded, adding, "I have to go. If I'm late, it'll put him in a bad mood."

Nodding slightly, he leaned in, kissing her lips softly and briefly. "Please be careful," he whispered. "This isn't the best of neighborhoods."

"It isn't the neighborhood I need to be careful of," she returned cryptically, then immediately turned to walk away.

He watched her depart, till he could no longer see her in the distance, then slowly, he opened her note.

"Meet me at Buddy's Mini Mart, next to the Candlewood Motel on 123rd St. It's a few blocks away from Crazy Fred's. Wait for me. I may be late, but I **will** be there. Come alone."

**TBC**

Author's note:

This chapter is kinda small, and I apologize for that. The next chapter, however, will make up for it. Lots happening in the next chapter.

My temporary word program sucks! It keeps throwing a '-1' in front of my titles. No clue why. When I get my new word program on Wednesday, I will go back and fix that.

Got two offers for beta reading. Thank you. I will get chapter 7 out to you soon!

Ok, so, it's review time! Clicky, clicky! You can do it! I have every faith in you!

MTLBYAKY


	8. Chapter 7

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 7

**XXX**

--For the second night in a row, Chandler found himself pacing in an unfamiliar and unfriendly neighborhood. And once again, his watch taunted him, minutes ticking by, in what seemed like hours, instead of at 60 second intervals.

As the night dragged on, he lost count of the number of bums who asked him for spare change, the ladies of the night who propositioned him, and the drunks who staggered by with dark liquor concealed poorly by brown paper bags.

But for Chandler, the night of unsettling events was just beginning.

His breath caught when he saw her on the approach, adrenalin finding new life and assaulting him. Finally, he would have his answers, and he vowed, long before he even left his apartment, that today was the day he would help her leave her abusive brother, with or without her cooperation.

Within arms reach, he moved to hug her, but she stopped him by holding out her hand to him, palm up.

"Not here," she told him. "It's too risky."

Glancing around as she was, he questioned her. "Not **here**?"

Without answering him, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him along with her.

"Where are we-"

She shushed him, cutting him off, her pace purposeful. As soon as the Candlewood Motel entrance was a few feet away, she slowed.

"Don't say anything," she demanded of him. "Don't ask questions, and don't react to anything you hear."

Confused, he simply nodded. The moment they walked through the door, the man behind the counter greeted Monica by name.

"Hey, Monica, I didn't know you were coming in tonight! Ross didn't-"

"Spur of the moment kind of thing, Nick," she interrupted him. "Room 27 available?"

"Yeah," the man she called Nick answered, eyeing Chandler for a moment before reaching behind him and snagging a key off a board full of hooks and other keys. "How long?"

"One hour," she said to him, dropping a twenty and a five on the counter.

Nick checked his watch, then muttered, "You have till 1:40 then."

Thanking him quickly, she plucked the key off the counter, grabbed Chandler by the wrist once again, and pulled him out into the cold. Turning to the right, the path she took followed along an unattached building, lined with windows and numbered doors.

Wasting no time, she stepped up to door number 27, keyed in, then yanked Chandler inside before immediately shutting, locking, and bolting the door.

It was obvious to him that she was scared, he could see it in her eyes, and without hesitation, he gathered her into his arms, attempting to console her.

With a relieved sounding sigh, she melted into his embrace, a minute later whispering, "I feel so safe with you."

"You are," he assured her, stroking her hair. "I would never hurt you."

"I know," she whispered into his chest, pulling back before pointing at the bed. "We should be sitting for this."

He nodded, but instead of taking a seat on the edge and foot of the bed, as she did, he pulled up a chair that was seated next to a small round table in the corner of the room.

Facing her, he eased into the chair, watching her intently as she stared at the floor. It was more than a minute later, when she finally broke the silence.

"Chandler," she whispered, her eyes locked on the knap of the dirty carpet beneath their feet, "I'm a prostitute." Off his odd expression, and before he could respond, she continued. "I don't want to be, but I am.

"Three months after I turned 18," she began her story, "My parents were killed in a car crash. I had nowhere else to go, so, my brother took me in. And everything was ok, at first. But then, he started doing drugs. And gambling. I guess he didn't handle our parents' death too well, I don't know. But, he was in over his head. **Way** over his head. He got in deep with his bookie slash drug dealer for tens of thousands. Guy told him, pay by the end of the day, or you're dead."

"He didn't have it," she continued. "He begged the guy for more time, but he wouldn't give it to him. But then, the guy made my brother an offer he apparently couldn't refuse. He would forgive half the debt, and give him time to raise the rest, if he could have, **time**, with me."

"I told him no. Of course I told him no. Told him, I wasn't a whore, but no wasn't an option. He locked me in the room with the guy. I fought him, for as long as I could, but he just kept hitting me. I was near unconscious, when he raped me."

"Afterwards, I threatened to go to the police, but my brother told me if I did, the bookie would kill us both. It was months later, when it happened again. The third time, I could just sense it was coming. I was **not** going to let it happen again. But, my brother knew that somehow. They ganged up on me, tied me to the bed. The guy raped me for hours. When he was done, and he left, my brother wouldn't untie me. He left me like that for days. Only fed me bread and water. Wouldn't let me use the bathroom. Told me if I left, or went to the police, I would be signing my own death warrant."

"I guess I just gave up," she sighed. "I just stopped fighting it. Stopped fighting at all. Stopped fighting the men that were raping me. I was tired of being hit, and they were going to rape me anyway. Whether I agreed or fought back or not. In time, I just accepted that, this is my life now. I had nowhere to go. No one I could trust. And if I tried and failed to escape, I knew my brother would come after me, and kill me."

"Your brother threatened to kill you?' Chandler asked, his voice choking on emotions he didn't know were possible to feel, all at once.

"Yes," she whispered. "But I can't live like this anymore. I would rather be dead, then continue like this. I just want it to stop."

It was only then, that tears broke free, the sight of them prompting Chandler to jump out of his chair and sit beside her, instantly pulling her to him.

"I'll make it stop," he promised her, though he had no idea in that moment how to accomplish that. "I won't let him or **anyone**, hurt you ever again."

The softly spoken thank you had barely left her mouth when a sharp loud knock at the door tore through their souls, instantly terrifying them both.

"Monica!" the voice on the other side barked, "Open this door!"

"Oh, God," Monica whispered harshly, clearly frightened. "It's Ross!"

"Who's Ross?" Chandler asked, watching as her eyes darted from the door to him, then around the room before landing back again.

She didn't answer him. Instead, she muttered to herself, "Nick must've called him."

"Monica?" he asked again, gripping her shoulders gently, silently demanding she look at him, "Who's Ross?"

Her eyes finally landed and locked on his. "My brother!"

**TBC**

Author's note:

I had two beta readers volunteer to read this chapter and advise me on whether or not the rating should be upped to 'M', or if it could stay at 'T', but neither one responded back. So, I'm keeping it at 'T', but if you (the readers) feel it should be upped, let me know and I'll change it.

Ok, so, lots of answers to questions in this chapter, yes? More will come in later chapters, never fear.

Let me just reiterate once again here, I don't hate 'Ross', or David Schwimmer, who plays Ross. Although, I don't think he cares much for me. Or he's, at the very least, afraid of me, but that's another story.

He's not my favorite character, but I certainly don't hate him. Like with all my stories, my muse dumps the concept into my head, and if I don't run with it, she gets pissy and leaves for extended vacations. So, in order to keep her happy and **present**, I am writing it like it first came to me.

I considered changing certain aspects, but my muse got whiny, and then my eldest daughter joined her (in the whining), so I opted not to alter the concept.

If you're holding out hope that Ross will redeem himself somehow later, don't. That's all I'm gonna say on that.

Ok, so, like or hate, click the review box and send me your thoughts.

Thanks, and MTLBYAKY


	9. Chapter 8

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 8

**XXX**

--Monica was pacing like a wild animal, her eyes wide in fear, her arms wrapped around herself so fiercely, her shoulders were hunched up to her neck.

Watching her helplessly, Chandler struggled with what to do or say to bring her at least some comfort. Struggled with finding a way to deal with the potentially disastrous situation that found them with the arrival of her brother, who was still just outside the door to the motel room they were hiding in.

"We just won't let him in!" Chandler announced, trying to stay calm in the presence of Monica's state of panic.

"He knows I'm here!" she shot back, whispering still. "He won't leave till I come out!"

More pounding, a fist meeting solid matter, rattling the hinges and the nearby window.

Ignoring the racket the man who was obstructed from their view was making, he exclaimed as he stepped towards the phone that sat atop the bedside table, "Then we'll call the police! Right now!"

"No!" she cried. "Not yet! Please, Chandler, you don't understand!" She stopped pacing in favor of grabbing his arm, tugging on it desperately. She startled at the sound of her name being shouted, even with it being muffled by wood and metal.

"Monica!" Ross called out again through the door. "I know you're in there! Unbolt this door **now**!"

"Please, Chandler," she begged him, pulling him away from the side of the bed and the phone by his sleeve. "Let me do this **my** way."

Reluctantly, without knowing what 'her way' was, he nodded, asking, "What do you want me to do?"

"Follow my lead," she instructed, moving towards the door. "Don't look or act angry," she added, gathering her courage and taking a deep breath before sliding the bolt on the door aside.

Ross stormed the room at once, instantly confronting his sister. "I **knew** it! You **are** branching out on your own! With Coffee Boy!"

"Ross," she said with surprising calm, "Does it **look** like we're having sex in here?" She then gestured to the room around them for emphasis.

"So, you got dressed!" he shot back. "When you heard me knock! That's what took you so long to answer!"

Monica rolled her eyes, keeping up the charade. "I was in the bathroom."

"Then why didn't coffee boy here answer it?" he challenged her, his hands on his hips dramatically.

"Maybe because you were pounding and screaming like a raving lunatic?" she asked with sarcasm, stealing a glance at Chandler when her brother looked over at him.

"So, if you're not working him," he snipped, his eyes back on his sister, "What are you doing here?"

He seemed less irritated to Chandler, who stood in complete shock over the scene he was witnessing, a surreal combination of anxiety and hatred welling inside him.

"He's interested," Monica answered, silently urging Chandler to catch on with just a brief look. "But he's never done this before, so he didn't know how to approach it."

His expression intense, Ross eyed Chandler for a moment, as if trying to determine something, before asking, "You're looking for companionship?"

Chandler had to force himself not to react negatively to the despicable man opposite him. "Yes," he answered with as civil a tone as he could muster, attempting to keep to whatever plan Monica was initiating. "Sorry, I didn't know there was a protocol."

Glaring back at him, Ross looked him up and down, before finally stating in an accusatory manner, "You look like a narc."

Chandler scowled at the 80s cop movie word, then shrugged as he muttered casually, "Just a coffeehouse owner going through a dry spell."

"What kind of time are you looking to spend with her?" Ross then asked, his eyes narrow slits, trained on Chandler, still seemingly skeptical.

"Not sure," Chandler answered, watching Monica out of his peripheral vision for some clue on how to respond. "What are the rates?"

"Two hundred per hour," Ross informed him. "Or three hours for five."

The way the man bargained with his sister's virtue made Chandler even angrier, but outwardly, he kept up appearances. "Three hours," he replied almost immediately, asking, "Do I pay now?"

"No, but since you're new," Ross explained, "It's half down, half after."

As if in agreement with the terms, he said with a short nod, "Ok. Where? When?"

"The **where** is **your** business," Ross scoffed, as if Chandler's naiveté was laughable. "As for **when****--**" he added, "When do you want her?"

"Now?" Chandler asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

Ross shook his head. "She's booked tonight. I can give you 8 till 11 tomorrow."

The idea of walking away from her now, knowing what would happen when he did made Chandler physically sick, but when he glanced at Monica, she was nodding almost imperceptibly.

"Ok," he agreed with a forced casual tone. "That works for me."

"I'll drop her off at Central Perk, tomorrow, 8 o'clock," Ross restated the arrangement. "Have the two-fifty ready."

Chandler nodded his understanding.

"I'll be back at 11, sharp!" Ross gave warning. "Have the other two-fifty **then**."

"Fine," Chandler returned, biting his tongue to keep from saying something that would blow everything, sinking his hands in his pockets to keep from hitting the man.

A moment later, Ross chuckled, and the noise surprised Chandler more than just slightly, and he cocked an eyebrow inquisitively in response.

"I **knew** you wanted her," Ross said immediately following. "I could tell," he added, almost sounding as if he were proud of himself. Then, he extended his hand towards Chandler, asking, "What's your name, coffee boy?"

Chandler would've rather had steel needles driven into his skull, then return the gesture Ross was initiating, but Monica seemed pleased at the direction the conversation had gone in. With effort, he forced himself not to act repulsed as he took Ross' hand, then answered, "Chandler."

**TBC**

Author's note:

Sorry this chapter is so short, it seemed longer when I wrote it out longhand, in the spiral bound notebook I've been using. Chapter 9 should be longer.

Got my new word program, but now I'm having problems saving in webpage format, so my personal webpage is behind on chapters. As soon as I figure that out, I will update my webpage. Got me a new laptop, too! Gotta love family who believes in your talent, eh? That, and early bird specials at Walmart, LOL!

I actually have this story written up to chapter 13, but I'm having a little issue with content. Chapter 13 wasn't working, so I scrapped it and started over. But now it's slow going, because what to do instead isn't coming to me easily. I'm hoping to have this worked out soon.

Ok, so, send me those reviews, guys! My happiness depends on them! Pathetic, eh? Oh well.

MTLBYAKY


	10. Chapter 9

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 9

**XXX**

--Chandler found himself pacing for the third time in as many nights, and for the same exact reason as the times before. He was waiting for Monica to show. At least this time, he was on familiar turf.

His friends watched him from their position on the couch, the accent rug behind it showing wear from the hours-old exercise in futility Chandler was forcing it to endure.

"A watched pot never boils," Phoebe offered the analogy. "You taking the equivalent of a three mile hike behind the couch won't make eight o'clock get here any faster. Sit."

Chandler shook his head, his anxious actions continuing. "Too nervous."

"I can't believe you're throwing away two hundred fifty dollars," Joey whined. "You know what you can buy with that?"

"I don't care," Chandler told him, spinning around to pace in the opposite direction. "All I care about is getting Monica away from this man and this life."

"So, what's the plan, exactly?" Rachel asked, jumping into the conversation.

"Not sure," Chandler admitted with a shrug. "But be prepared to spend an evening with cops."

The jingle of the bell that was attached to the door caught Chandler's attention immediately, but seeing that it wasn't her, he looked away, disappointed, and sighed.

"I know you're excited to see her again," Phoebe said to him, "But you need to keep in mind, this isn't a date. Her brain is in a completely different place. She's about to make the biggest, scariest leap of her life! **That's** where her mind is going to be. Not necessarily on seeing or spending time with you."

"I know that, Pheebs," he assured his friend, his eyes darting up to look at the door when he heard the bell again.

This time, it was Monica who walked in, not some random patron, and the sight of her brought a smile instantly to his face. She, however, did not return it.

"Ross is suspicious," she said to Chandler point blank, with what amounted to nothing in the way of emotion. "He doesn't think you're a narc," she added, "But he's being weird."

Chandler just stared back at her, trying to determine what her seriously spoken words meant.

"When you get out there," she explained to him without even a beat pause, "Be civil, but nothing more. Pass the money through a handshake. He likes to keep things on the DL. He's going to tell you he got the motel room booked already. Agree to it. Don't make waves," she instructed. "We'll talk when we get to the room."

Without waiting for a response of any kind, she spun around and moved towards the door. Chandler blinked a few times in disbelief, gave a brief discreet glance at his friends, then stepped quickly to catch up to her and follow.

Ross watched him as he approached, in an almost eerie way, but Chandler held steady as he neared.

"Hey," Chandler said with an upnod, extending his hand towards the man leaning against the car he knew to be his.

Shaking his hand, Ross gave an upnod in return, when he felt the money enter his possession.

"Slight change in plans," Ross then told him, slipping his hand into his pocket. "Since you're new, I took the liberty of acquiring the 'where'. It's just up the street. Monica knows where it is."

Unsure of how to respond exactly, Chandler just shrugged and said, "K."

Ross continued to stare him down, causing Chandler's nerves to prickle. "Have her back here **by** eleven. It will **not** bode well for you, if you're late."

"We won't be," Chandler assured him with a staunch tone.

Monica rolled her eyes, as if to imply she was tired of just standing around. "Tick tock, Ross," she threw at him, turning away from the two men and heading up the street. "Time to go, Chandler," she tossed over her shoulder, her departing pace slow but steady.

Ross gave Chandler a nod, as if giving him permission to walk away and follow her, which Chandler instantly accepted.

As soon as Chandler caught up and was at her side, he whispered, "What's going on?"

She hissed, then whispered back, "Wait."

When he was sure Ross could no longer see them, after traveling about a block up the street, he asked again, "What's going on, Monica?"

"He kept asking questions," she told him in a quiet, near whisper level of voice. "Why did I keep coming back to Central Perk? How long have I known you were interested? Why didn't I tell him sooner? Since when do I care if a man **is**? I tried not to raise flags," she added, "But I don't think he completely bought my answers."

Chandler nodded a he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So, what happens now?"

"Wait till we get inside," she said as she gestured to a seedy motel just up ahead a few yards, and he nodded again.

The man behind the bullet proof glass passed the key through the small slit where plexiglass met counter, but said nothing and acknowledged the same.

"Thanks, Zack," Monica muttered, snatching the key in one quick movement as she moved past.

The fluid motion and ease of the transaction caused Chandler to ponder, how many times had she done that very same thing in her life? A lot, he guessed as he followed her down the hall, towards a corridor lined with rooms and numbered doors.

She stopped at the very first door and keyed in, quickly shutting it and locking them in when he entered behind her.

"Things aren't going according to plan," he asked softly, "Are they?"

She shook her head. "He's got Zack keeping an eye out for anything unusual," she told him with a heavy sigh. "And he's probably still sitting outside the coffeehouse," she added, stepping up to the bed and dropping down on the edge of it.

"So," he asked, remaining firmly in place, "What happens now?"

"He'll drop his guard," she explained, "If tonight goes well. We stick it out here for three hours, then be back at Central Perk by eleven. **With** the other two fifty," she added with a grimace of remorse.

He nodded. "Luckily, since I didn't know what to expect, I pulled the entire five." He patted his pocket, then asked, "So, what, I ask for another date or something?" She nodded her answer. "For tomorrow?" he asked.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "That's too soon. Johns don't do that. You'll need to make it for two weeks."

Looking somewhat and feeling completely appalled, he shot back, "Monica, no! That's too long! I can't bear to think of you doing this for even two more minutes, let alone weeks!"

"I've been doing this for nearly eight years now, Chandler, I can handle fourteen more days," she told him, adding, "You said we could do this **my** way. I know what he'll see as weird, and what he'll see as, quote-unquote normal. You need to trust me on this, ok? Flags have already been raised. Too many more, and it'll completely blow my chances at escape **any** time soon."

"I **do** trust you," he whispered, his head hanging low in defeat. "I just don't trust **him**."

She nodded, adding, "So, you'll do this **my** way?"

"Yes," he answered simply, but not at all assuredly.

"Thank you," she said with a sigh of relief. "Now," she added, "Onto the other problem."

His head shot up, his eyes finding hers. "What other problem?"

"I overheard Ross telling Zack, to watch for anything unusual, or suspicious," she explained. "He told him, to check the room. You know, **after**."

Scowling, he asked, "Why? Check it for what?"

"Signs," she answered, but since his confused expression remained, she elaborated. "Signs that we actually, had sex."

His eyes grew wide, a slight shake of his head following. "No," he told her. "Not here. Not like this."

Her smile surprised him. "You really **are** a gentleman," she murmured, then told him, "It just has to **look** like we've been having sex."

An eyebrow arched as he asked, "And, how do we do **that**?"

Breaking their eye contact, she started digging in her purse, a moment later, producing a small foil square. "How do you feel about masturbating while wearing a condom?"

**TBC**

Author's note:

I'm posting this chapter quickly, to make up for the fact that the last chapter was so small. See how nice I am? So, please, be nice back and review! K?

MTLBYAKY


	11. Chapter 10

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 10

**XXX**

--Chandler stared back at her for an eternity of seconds before finally responding. "You **cannot** be serious."

Monica sighed. "He knows I wouldn't willingly do it without protection, Chandler. If there's no evidence, he'll expect to see me beat and bruised. It's either **this**," she said as she waggled the foil wrapper, "Or beat me up."

When she winced at her last few spoken words, Chandler realized that even if only slightly, she wondered what his response to what she had just said would be.

"I would never and **could** never hurt you," he told her firmly, and the concerned scowl on her face dissipated immediately.

Sheepishly, she smiled a she extended the condom towards him, and slowly, he stepped forward, taking the item from her outstretched hand. He entered the bathroom without further discussion, preparing to do what was easily, at best, the oddest thing, at worst the sickest thing, he had ever had to do.

It took forever to accomplish the task, Chandler's brain recalling every porno his friend Joey had ever made him watch to get there. Afterwards, he attempted to wash up, but the small dingy sink in the poorly lit room offered little assistance in the matter.

It was only after he dried his hands on the not so clean towel that hung from the shower rod, that he heard a faint noise coming from the other room.

Unsure of what to expect, he exited the bathroom cautiously, his eyes landing on Monica, the source of the ruckus then clear.

She was on the floor, leaning against the foot of the bed, rocking it rhythmically so that it would knock into the wall.

Arching an eyebrow in silent request of an explanation, she smiled uneasily as she whispered, "He will expect to hear noises."

Chandler nodded, tossing the used prophylactic and the tissue he was using to carry it with into the trash bin beside the bed, then stood in awkward silence as he watched her.

A few minutes in, she picked up the pace, continuing for several minutes more before she finally stopped.

Her head hung low, as if ashamed, and the tension in the room grew thick with her actions. In an effort to keep things real between them, in a very surreal situation, Chandler joined her on the floor and wrapped his arm around her.

Seeking his comfort, she placed her head on his shoulder, almost against his chest, and offered a whispered apology as her eyes slipped shut.

He accepted easily, holding her a little tighter, resting his cheek against the top of her head. They sat in complete silence, for more minutes than either cared to keep track of, before Monica's meek voice broke it.

"What's your last name?"

With her question came a window of opportunity, and he snatched it quickly, before it disappeared. "Bing. What's yours?"

"Geller. Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked abruptly. "That blonde or brunette from the coffeehouse, maybe?"

"No," he answered. "They're just friends." He knew better than to ask her the same question. "What did you want to be?" he asked instead. "You know, before your life took this horrific detour."

"A chef," she told him, a thoughtful lilt to her tone. "I was accepted to this wonderful culinary institute, too. But, when my parents died, the dream died with them. They weren't exactly rich," she explained, "But they were planning to pay for my schooling. I couldn't afford it on my own, and my brother refused to help, so, the school gave my slot to another applicant."

"How did you end up owning Central Perk?" she then asked, snuggling deeper against him as they shared and learned about each other.

"It used to be a bar," he told her the story, "But the owner was looking to get out. I wanted to buy it and keep it a bar, but the liquor license laws and such are a **huge** pain in the ass. So, I turned it into a coffee place. Probably better that I did," he added with a chuckle. "Coffeehouses aren't known for attracting rowdy crowds. Worst you get is an occasional lover's spat."

She nodded, then sighed as she changed the subject. "I'm sorry this is going to end up costing you so much money. I'll pay you back," she promised. "As soon as I can. With interest, if you want."

"Don't worry about that," he told her, almost sternly. "It's worth the cost, if it gets you safely away from all this."

"Thank you," she whispered, clinging to him.

They fell into another silence. This time, a comfortable one. **This** time, Chandler being the one to break it several minutes later.

"How do I ask Ross for another date with you?" he asked, adding, "I mean, how do I word it?"

"When we get back tonight, pass the other two fifty in a handshake, then tell him you want another evening with me, in two weeks. Treat it like a business dealing. Don't be overly friendly. He'll think that's weird."

"Seeing as how I hate the man," Chandler returned sarcastically, "I would have to agree with him."

"Don't act like you hate him," she advised him, then produced another glittery-silver packet from her purse. "Ready to go again?"

He pulled back just enough to initiate eye contact. "Again?" he questioned her, his tone and expression clearly showing his shock and confusion.

"The Johns that book three hours do **at least** that," she explained. "He'll get suspicious, if it's less than twice."

"It was hard enough the first time," he admitted, groaning at the mere thought of it.

"Well," she suggested, "Maybe I could help you."

When she started to run her hand up his thigh, he snatched it off himself, shifting away slightly.

"Monica, no," he almost scolded her. "You're not a prostitute tonight. You're not one anyway, and in two weeks, you'll never have to act the part again."

Smiling up at him, she said softly, "I don't feel like one, when I'm with you. Don't worry," she assured him, "I'm only offering **a little** help."

When her lips touched his, he released her hand, his then winding into her hair as the kiss instantly grew in intensity.

Free to do so, her hand moved back to his thigh, inching higher, causing him to moan in response.

His body, brain, and heart began to wage war against each other. He didn't want it to be like that with her, but it felt so amazing, so electrifying, he couldn't find the resolve to put a stop to it.

When she pressed her hand into his groin, he rocked against her instinctively, the friction it provided causing him to shudder with need. He broke the kiss, breathing heavily against her lips.

"Not like this, Monica, please," he pleaded with her, his willpower hanging on by a thread.

Apologizing in a whisper, she removed her hand, then presented him with the wrapped condom once again.

With effort, he pushed off the floor, then took what she offered, moving quickly towards and into the bathroom.

Completely aroused, he immediately began his task, but instead of unknown women from random porno movies, his mind locked onto the image of Monica. Her touch and kisses were so fresh, so vivid, he could almost feel it as if it were still happening.

He moaned as he finished, disgusted with himself when he did. Guilt set in instantly, and he decided, as he yanked the used condom off himself, that he was no better than the men Ross forced on her.

**TBC**

Author's note:

Well, I think it's finally happened! I think I have finally run out of witty things to say in my author's notes! Tapped out. Bone dry. Mojave desert. It's very sad. You know what might make me happy, in light of this unsettling situation? Reviews! Lots of them!

Yeah, I think that might help me to feel better. Lots and lots of reviews. You want to cheer me up, don't you? After all, it's hard to write when I'm all bummed and stuff.

:::hint, hint – wink, wink:::

MTLBYAKY


	12. Chapter 11

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 11

**XXX**

--Chandler sat at the edge of the couch, his frame hunched, his elbows resting on his knees as his hands clutched themselves. His whole body shook as he bounced his legs on the balls of his feet.

Barely acknowledging her as she stepped up, Rachel deftly removed one half drunk mug of coffee from the table in front of him and replaced it with another full one.

Glancing up, as if requesting an explanation, Rachel simply said to him, "Decaf," then ruffled his hair in friendly affection before walking away.

"You're not still dwelling on what happened two weeks ago, are you?" Phoebe asked, setting her hand on his left knee to stop his nervous actions.

"It was wrong, Pheebs," Chandler lamented. "It was over clothes, but it was still wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Chandler," she insisted. "It was a natural reaction. And Monica didn't do anything wrong, either. Boundary lines are muddied with this level of abuse and trauma. In her way of thinking, she was just simply helping you, the only way she knows how. It's almost mechanical."

"Pheebs is right," Joey interjected. "You're being **way** too hard on yourself."

Sighing, Chandler muttered, "I don't want it to be like that with her."

"How do you want it to be?" she asked him.

"I want it to be more than just the act," he answered. "I want it to be special. I want it to be because we **both** have feelings for each other."

"And you think because of what happened two weeks ago, that everything you want is now ruined." It was a cross between a question and a statement.

Chandler shrugged. "I don't know. If it had gone on much longer, I think it could've been."

"With everything she's been through- With you being her knight in shining armor- I think it's going to take time to cultivate the kind of relationship you're looking to have with her."

"I'm ok with that," Chandler told her. "I just don't want the possibility to be yanked away because of **my** lack of willpower."

"You have more willpower than you think," Phoebe laughed. "A lesser man would have let her continue." Joey nodded in agreement.

"But, I didn't stop it right away," Chandler countered. "And I should have."

"**And**, you're human!" Phoebe shot back in his defense. "I still say you did nothing wrong, but if you're bound and determined to think otherwise, at least give yourself **that**!"

"I don't want to give myself excuses for my behaviors," he muttered.

"No," she scolded him, "You want to **punish** yourself! Well," she added, "You'll get no help with that from **me**!"

"Me neither," Joey chimed in. "Stop beating yourself up over this," he joked, "Or I'm gonna have to!"

Chandler smiled over at his friend, but it dropped seconds later, when he looked past him and at the door. "Speaking of," he whispered, then immediately jumped to his feet.

Her expression was almost stern as she approached him.

"Don't react," Monica told him. "He's watching."

Chandler forced the horrified expression off his face. "Did he do this to you?"

"No," she answered, "The John last night did. It is imperative that you react the right way to this," she warned him. "If you don't, Ross won't leave."

"What do I do?" he asked, his stomach doing somersaults. The bruising around her eye, blending down to her cheek was deep purple, her bottom lip swollen, a small split in the middle. Her throat had red marks, like someone had tried to choke her.

"Grab my arm, march me out there. I'm damaged goods now-"

"No," Chandler whispered, interrupting her.

"Chandler!" she snipped at him, "You have to do this **my** way, or he'll get suspicious! I'm damaged," she started again. "Ask for a discount. He'll ask about rescheduling. Don't. You want a discount. We're talking too much," she added nervously. "Grab my arm. Look irritated."

When he only stared back, she snapped desperately at him. "Chandler, trust me! Do it!"

Abruptly, he grabbed her upper arm, firmly but gently, then marched towards the door and out to a waiting Ross.

"Look at her!" he barked at her brother. "What the hell happened? She's a mess!"

Casually, like one might discuss the weather, or their favorite flavor of pop tarts, Ross muttered, "Not ever John wants **just** sex."

Anger welled inside him, but Chandler used the emotion to play the role Monica asked of him. "She doesn't look like she can go even **one** hour, let alone **three**!"

"She's a professional," Ross returned flatly, completely unperturbed, "But if you want to reschedule, she has time next Thursday."

Chandler shook his head. "I moved things around for this. We'll do it tonight. Give me a discount," he added, almost as if it were an afterthought.

Incredulously, Ross eyed him, asking, "You think you should get a discount?"

"Don't **you**?" Chandler snipped back. "Look at her! I have to look at **that** while I'm--" He stopped the despicable sentence short, unable to finish it. "Hundred dollars off," he demanded in a somewhat casual tone.

Ross shook his head in response. "She can still get you off. Fifty."

Acting exasperated, Chandler sighed. "Fine. Half now?" he asked, and Ross nodded.

As Chandler passed the money through a handshake, Ross reminded, "Eleven o'clock."

"We'll be here," Chandler lied, then gestured for Monica to follow as he turned and started up the street.

They walked in silence, not even daring to glance at one another, fully aware that they were being watched.

A minute after their journey away from him began, they heard a car door slam. Then, an engine roar to life. A few seconds later, they both watched as Ross' car sped past them and up the street.

When the car finally disappeared from sight, Monica announced with a slight sense of awe, "It worked."

Instantly, Chandler stopped walking and pulled her into his arms. "I am **so** sorry," he apologized to her, adding, "No one should **ever** talk to or about you like that."

"You had to," she whispered against his chest. "You handled it perfectly."

"So, we're on then?" he asked hopefully, pulling back to search her eyes.

She nodded. "Yes." Relief and fear edged her tone and expression, understandably, and he touched her face gently as he offered her a reassuring smile.

"It's going to be ok," he told her softly, and she nodded again, slow and unsure.

"C'mon," he said to her, placing a kiss in her hair as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and led her down the street, back towards Central Perk and his waiting friends. "We'll call the police from my place," he suggested.

She took in a shaky breath, whispering, "Ok."

Chandler poked his head through the door of his coffeehouse and gave a whistle to his friends. When he had their attention, he told them, "It's time," then gestured with a jerk of his head for them to follow him, which they did.

"Cover for me?" Rachel asked of Gunther, who nodded, though he looked thoroughly confused.

"Sure," he said, asking, "Where's everyone going?"

Rachel kept moving, calling over her shoulder, "To save the damsel in distress."

**TBC**

Author's notes:

So, I find out that my 16 year old daughter has ditched 16 out of 23 days, so, in order to make sure she attends, I've gone back to school, so to speak. I have been spending my days following my daughter to each of her classes, trying to write while teachers babble to kids who don't want to learn. It's been an experience. But, because of this, I don't know if I can update chapters as quickly as I have been.

I only have up to chapter 13 written, so, once I post chapter 12, it's going to take a while to get the subsequent chapters done and posted. Sorry about this.

So, you know the drill. Review, review! It's been a rough week for me, I could use some cheering up.

MTLBYAKY


	13. Chapter 12

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 12

**XXX**

--The mood in the apartment was somber as Monica finished telling her story to the two dispatched officers.

Seated on the couch, Chandler sat with his arm around Monica, offering her support, holding her a little tighter when she seemed to need it.

Joey, Rachel, and Phoebe stood off to the side, near the kitchen, in shock over the horrifically fantastic story they'd just heard. The girls were in tears, and Joey had his arm around both, consoling them the best he could.

The officers, trained to detach, simply jotted down notes in their notebooks and asked the occasional question for clarification purposes.

"Ms. Geller," the female cop, Officer Hodges asked, "Your brother's bookie? Do you know his name? Or his base of operation?"

"Not really," Monica lied. "But even if I did, I'm not so sure I should be ratting on people who could and **would** hunt me down and kill me."

"Here's the problem, Ms. Geller," the other officer, Officer Hammond addressed her. "Without witnessing the crime, or an attempt at the crime, the case is just too flimsy to stick. We can arrest him, but realistically, he'll probably be out on the streets in seventy-two hours."

Outraged, Chandler snapped, "I thought your motto was, to serve and protect! She needs protection! She needs you people to lock up her monster brother and keep him away from her!"

"Calm down, Mr. Bing," Officer Hodges asked firmly of him. "There **is** another way, to ensure the case is solid enough for prosecution and conviction."

"And, what way is that?" Phoebe asked, involving herself in the conversation.

"Tonight, at eleven," the officer explained, "Meet with your brother, as scheduled. We'll fit you with a wire. Ask questions. Try to get him to admit his involvement in criminal activities-"

"And run the risk of him beating the shit out of her? Or worse?" Chandler shot back angrily. "No way!"

"Mr. Bing," Officer Hammond sighed, "We'll be less than twenty feet away. We'll hear everything being said. If Mr. Geller tries anything- if at any point, she is at risk, or in danger, we'll move in."

"If I do this," Monica asked weakly, "You can lock him up? For a long time?"

"Monica, no," Chandler whispered urgently, but she virtually ignored him as she stared back at the officers, awaiting an answer.

"We can't promise the outcome of any trial," Officer Hodges told her, "But without this, just short of a full confession, it's doubtful it would even **go** to trial."

"But if she gets him to confess something on the wire, chances are good he'll get locked up?" Rachel then asked, receiving a stern glare from Chandler.

"Don't help them talk her into this!" he snipped at her. "She's been through enough!" he added, then turned to the officers, asking, "What if **I** wear the wire? I could ask for another evening with Monica."

Monica shook her head. "He won't say much to you. It's gonna need to be me, who does this," she sighed, dropping her chin halfway to her chest.

"Does that mean you'll do it?" Officer Hammond asked, and Monica nodded her head slowly in response.

"I'll do it," she told them, leaning into Chandler when he pulled her tighter to him.

"I want to be there, then," he announced determinedly, his brow set in a scowl.

"He won't talk to me, if you're there," Monica whispered into his chest. "I have to face him alone."

"Don't worry, Ms. Geller," Officer Hodges assured her, "We won't let him hurt you."

**XXX**

--Standing outside of Central Perk, Monica seemed to find a place of calm within herself as she waited for her brother to show, despite her racing heart.

Focusing on the task ahead of her, she mentally prepared herself for the confrontation she knew to be imminent, mulling over possible directions the conversation would go in and how she should respond to each.

It was ten minutes till eleven when his car finally pulled up, and she took in a cleansing breath as it parked a few feet in front of her.

She avoided eye contact with her brother, but she knew he was watching her from the driver's seat, through the passenger side window. When she made no attempt to join him after nearly a minute, he cut the engine and stepped out of the car.

"What are you doing?" he asked irately. "Where's coffee boy?"

"He had to go home," she near-whispered, still avoiding his gaze, still cemented in place.

"Did he pay?" he then asked, and she nodded in response.

"He paid," she lied, sighing a moment later.

"What's with you?" he asked suspiciously. "Get in the car."

"I'm tired, Ross," she told him weakly. "Tired of all of it."

He glared hard at her. "We'll talk about it at home."

"No," she countered, "We won't. It's never talking. It's always fighting. And fighting leads to violence. At least **here**," she added, "In **public**, you'll be less likely to."

"You're only prolonging the inevitable," he sneered, taking a step towards her, but she stopped him by extending her hand, palm up.

"I can't do it anymore, Ross," she told him. "I never wanted any part of this, and it's been going on too long. You need to let me go."

"You know I can't do that," Ross snipped, glancing around them before glaring back at her. "I have debts. I need the money this business generates."

"I'm not a business, Ross!" she snapped at him. "I'm your little sister!"

"We're not doing this here," he growled through gritted teeth. "Get in the car!"

"No!" she shot back, defiant.

"No?" he questioned her with surprised anger. "If you don't," he warned her, "You know what will happen."

It was the perfect opening, and she snatched it eagerly. "What, Ross? What will happen?"

"You will die," he answered eerily.

"Yeah?" she asked pointedly. "By whose hand?"

"Mine, you bitch!" he snarled, lunging for her and grabbing her arm. "Now get in the car!"

She yanked her arm away from him. "No!" she yelled. "Get away from me!"

She didn't see it coming, until it was too late to react. Suddenly, the back of his hand was across her face, and stars lit up behind her eyes at the impact. Stumbling back from the force of it, she lost her footing and hit the ground, only vaguely aware that her brother was advancing on her.

Still dazed, vision blurry, she could hear orders being shouted, she could see fuzzy images of several people approaching. Then, she felt a gentle hand touch her shoulder, and heard a soft voice whisper in her ear.

"I'm here. You're safe now. They got him."

**TBC**

Author's note:

I was mistaken. I have chapter 13 written, it's chapter 14 I'm currently working on, slowly, cause I've been attending classes with my daughter. So, after the **next** chapter, posting will be slow going.

Ok, please review. I know I say that in every author's note, and there's a reason for that. I really, really, **really** want you to review.

So, could'ja? Pretty please?

MTLBYAKY


	14. Chapter 13

The One with Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 13

**XXX**

-- They were unrelenting, a persistent demand that wouldn't die, no matter how many times Monica had refused. They spouted about protocol, and insisted she follow it, but still she said no.

Having been on the receiving end of worse, a trip to the hospital over such a simple act of aggression seemed, to her, pointless. Compared to the violence she had endured in the past, this was nothing, but the police apparently didn't see it that way, and quite frankly, didn't care. Maybe because it happened right in front of them. Maybe it was because she had been wearing a wire. **Their** wire. Whatever the reason, they wouldn't back down, even though her stubbornness continued.

It was Chandler's softly spoken promises to go with her, that finally cracked her resolve.

--The smell of clean in the hospital's emergency room brought on an onslaught of memories, like unconnected dots of flashbacks.

Pacing the waiting room floor with her brother, the night they got the call that their parents had been in that fatal car wreck. Their father had died at the scene, their mother barely alive when she arrived by ambulance.

The last words their mother ever said to them, directed at Ross. "Take care of Monica." Their mother was turning in her grave, Monica was sure of it.

The doctor coming out to them, to tell them their mother didn't make it through surgery. Her brother holding her as she cried.

Mental images from the past combined with the stress from her current situation caused a steady stream of tears, and snapped responses to questions she didn't want to answer.

"I was back-handed across the face," Monica snipped at the nurse who had made the mistake of asking the question, "How is knowing my middle name **at all** necessary?"

Knowing at least part of the reason for her surly disposition, Chandler attempted to compensate, to ease some of the tension, by speaking in a calm nurturing tone. "They're just doing their job, Monica. Try to relax."

"Relax?" she scoffed, her brow creased in obvious agitation. "How?" she asked with hostility, gesturing to the room around them, and the people in it.

"Ms. Geller," the doctor interrupted, receiving a stern gaze from her patient in response. Unfazed, she continued. "When was your last STD screen?"

"Ross would never let me get one." Her reply was immediate, her tone definitive as she turned away, her fingers gripping the edge of the gurney she was laying on so tightly, her knuckles began to turn white.

Shock ripped through Chandler's senses like a knife through flesh. Sexually transmitted diseases. Why hadn't that ever occurred to him?

"Add a full STD panel," the doctor told the nurse without much more than a beat pause.

Concern raged in Chandler's mind, but he fought to push it aside. Monica needed him, that's where his focus needed to be. He would deal with the other later.

"Mr. Bing," the doctor addressed him, closing the metallic folder that contained Monica's chart when she did. "We are going to need you to wait outside while we do the physical exam."

"You need to do a physical exam, **why**?" Monica asked with angry sarcasm.

"With the level of sexual abuse you've been through," the doctor explained patiently, "It is standard procedure to do a physical exam to ensure-"

"Fine!" Monica barked, interrupting the doctor. "Whatever! Just do what you think you have to so I can **leave** already!"

Her tears were in direct contrast to her tone. A mix of sadness and anger, her emotions in complete turmoil.

Gently, Chandler eased Monica's hand off the gurney, helping to restore the natural color to it by stroking her fingers softly.

"I'll be right outside," he whispered, then kissed her forehead before turning and walking out of the room.

Stepping into the hall, he crossed over to the wall adjacent, leaning back against it heavily and sighing. If he was this spent, emotionally and physically, he could only imagine how Monica was feeling.

"Your friend sure has been through a lot."

Chandler glanced over in the direction of the voice, to see Officer Hodges standing a few feet away.

"Yeah," he agreed distantly, his eyes dropping to the floor directly in front of his feet.

Joining him, she leaned against the wall as he was, just a few inches away. "How long have you known her?"

"Three months," he answered, adding with a shrug of his shoulders, "Off and on."

"You tried to get her help once before." When he looked over at her questioningly, she added, "It came up on the computer."

"Twice," he said with a slightly bitter tone. "They told me there wasn't enough to go on."

He could see her nod out of his peripheral vision, which, he guessed, was meant as a form of apology, then he heard her ask, "Who is she to you, anyway?"

Scowling at his feet as they scuffed the ground, he asked in return, "Is this an interrogation?"

"No," she answered ruefully. "You're under no obligation to answer my questions. I was just curious," she added.

Eventually, he said with a sigh, "She's just a woman who wandered into my coffeehouse one day."

**XXX**

--The sweats he'd given her to wear were easily too big for her, but they would be comfortable to sleep in, he'd figured, and told her the same.

Turning down his bed, he waited for her to climb in before tugging the blankets back up and around her, tucking her in with an almost fatherly dedication.

"I'll be out on the couch," he told her, giving the covers final attention. "Just holler if you need anything." She only nodded in response.

It appeared that non-verbal communication was all she was currently comfortable in giving. Contributing that to the extreme of the ordeal she had just been through, he requested nothing more.

Whispering goodnight, he offered a small smile before turning away and heading for the door. It was only after his hand touched the knob that she spoke, for the first time since leaving the hospital.

"I'm sorry about before."

"Before?" he asked, dropping his hand and facing her.

"At the hospital?" she explained, adding, "I'm sorry I was so short with everyone." Guiltily, she looked away as she apologized.

"You were stressed," he said with understanding, stepping to the middle of the room. "No one faults you for that."

She nodded, then asked of him as she met his eyes, "Will you stay with me? Till I fall asleep?"

Answering not with words, but with actions, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, at her side, and gently grasped her hand in his.

"It feels weird, not to be afraid," she whispered after several moments of comfortable silence, adding just as quietly, "To know I'm safe."

"You **are** safe," he assured her. "He's in jail now. He can't hurt you anymore."

"Do you think I'll have to face him again?" she asked, her voice quivering slightly. "Like, at trial?"

"Probably," he answered honestly, sensing her anxiety over the mere thought of it.

"If I **do** have to face him again," she asked him cautiously, almost nervously, "Will you go with me?"

"Definitely," he promised her without hesitation.

Her mouth opened, as if she had more to say, but instead of words, a yawn escaped.

"You're tired," he stated the obvious. "Close your eyes," he instructed, "Try to get some sleep."

Nodding in approval of his suggestion, her eyes drifted closed, yawning again.

It didn't take long. Her body relaxed, her breathing slow and deep. Finally, she was in the land of dreams. Peaceful ones, he hoped, carefully pushing off the bed and tiptoeing out of the room.

**TBC**

Author's note:

I have fixed the problem with chapter 14, so, while it will still take me a while to update, cause I'm still babysitting my daughter at school, I will be able to finish a bit quicker than I previously thought.

Ok, so, I need to see those reviews! Getting a few new 'faces' reviewing, which I love to see! Let's keep it going, k?

MTLBYAKY


	15. Chapter 14

The One with Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 14

**XXX**

--Quietly, so as not to wake Monica, Chandler shut his bedroom door, startling when he turned to find Joey watching him.

"What are you still doing up?" Chandler asked, heading for his makeshift bed, his hand over his heart in an attempt to will it to slow from the jolt it had just received.

"I was thirsty," Joey answered, holding up the glass of water in his hand, then gestured with it towards Chandler's room. "How is she?"

"Exhausted," Chandler sighed, dropping his tired body onto the couch, himself the same. "She's sleeping now."

"You should be too," Joey advised him. "You look like death," he added jokingly, a tiny lopsided grin inching onto his face.

"I **feel** like death," Chandler quipped, but the happier expression he wore quickly faded.

Joey scowled over the abrupt change in Chandler's demeanor, asking, "You ok?"

The question was simple, yet complex, all at the same time. Unsure of how to answer, of his own feelings, really, Chandler just shrugged in response.

"Chandler," Joey asked pointedly, almost demanding an answer, "What's wrong?"

The life seemed to drain from him, his body slumped, his head hung low.

Without a clear and obvious way to broach the subject, Chandler just blurted out the first sentence that came to mind. "STDs, Joe. I didn't even think of that! I mean, my brain never even went there! With all she's been through? How stupid am I?"

Joey sighed as he took a seat beside him. "You're not stupid," he assured him. "You were just, too busy trying to help her."

"I guess," Chandler agreed weakly, leaning his head against the back of the couch and bringing his hands to his face.

"What does she have?" Joey asked carefully, appearing casual as he downed the last of his water and set his glass aside.

"They don't know yet," Chandler mumbled into his hands, then dropped them into his lap. "So far, nothing, but some of the tests take time."

"What happens if she has one?" Joey asked. "Or more than one?"

"Treatment? Medications? I don't know," Chandler answered with a deep frustrated sigh.

"I meant," Joey clarified, "What happens with **you**? With the two of you?"

"I don't know," Chandler returned with pained honesty. "Depends."

"On?" Joey questioned him with an arched eyebrow.

"What she has," was Chandler abrupt answer. "Theoretically, some STDs are just annoying. Some are curable. Others are-"

"Are deadly," Joey interrupted and completed the unfinished sentence. "So, question is," he continued, "How much are you willing to sacrifice?"

"Sacrifice?" Chandler asked, looking over at his friend, requesting an explanation.

"Yeah, like, what if you can never have sex with her?" he proposed the possible scenario. "You can do **other** things, but you can never have **actual** sex? That would be a sacrifice. Let's say, down the line, you want to get married. And have kids. What if she can't?" he asked. "You could adopt maybe, but still, that's a sacrifice. How much are you willing to sacrifice?"

Chandler shook his head in frustration. "I don't know yet. I mean," he added, "We barely know each other! I think decisions like that would be best left for later on."

"Maybe," Joey semi-agreed with a half-nod, half-shrug. "But, with everything she's been through, how far do you let it go on, before saying something?"

"Ugh!" Chandler groaned quietly. "Love sucks! I **finally** find this fantastic woman that I would consider going the distance with, and now I might not be able to!"

"You want my advice?" Joey asked, and Chandler nodded in response. "Talk to her about the STDs thing. Tell her it could be a problem."

Chandler shook his head. "I don't want to hurt her. She's been through enough pain."

"So, what then?" Joey challenged him. "You'll be in a relationship? Marry her? All to avoid hurting her?"

"I don't intend to take it that far, Joe," Chandler sighed. "When I know what she has, if anything, then I'll decide the next step. Till then, I'll just have to be, distant, romantically speaking."

**XXX**

--The distinctive sound of folksy music filled the coffeehouse, occasionally spilling out into the street when patrons would enter or leave, but being the consummate professional she felt she was, the disruption didn't perturb Phoebe in the least.

Discreetly, Chandler stole glances at Monica as she sat on the couch, the enthusiastic smile she wore warming his heart. The expression, or at least the degree of it, was probably foreign to her, he thought to himself, the last eight years thrusting at her more heartache and fear than anything happy.

It had been two weeks, since the great escape, and in that time, he slowly started to see the Monica she would have been, if not for her brother. A little more self confident, definitely happier-- a woman with values and a heart bursting to share love.

He ached to share with her too, but fear prevented him. Her test results had yet to come in, and in the absence of knowledge, his brain ruled his desires. There was no way he could start a relationship with her, without knowing the possible future of it.

The mixed signals he was sending her had to be confusing her, but she didn't react the way he figured she would, whenever he would distance himself slightly from her affections. It was almost as if she expected his response, on some level. Like she felt he was justified in rejecting her.

But he wasn't rejecting her. Not really. He was biding his time, waiting for test results. Waiting to see where they could even take their in-limbo relationship.

Maybe he should've explained that to her, he'd thought on more than one occasion, but he was never able to find the right words. Every possible way of broaching the subject seemed crude, or potentially hurtful. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Hurt her. She'd had enough of that in her life.

The enthusiastic applause brought Chandler out of his reverie, and he joined in politely when he saw Phoebe approaching.

"I have to ask," Monica said to Phoebe as she took a seat on the couch, "Where do you come up with the lyrics for your songs?"

Phoebe shrugged. "I don't know. Life, mostly. It's like, it's just in me, begging to be released."

"Like little hostages," Chandler quipped, startling slightly when he heard Phoebe gasp.

"Poor choice of words," she said to him, gesturing towards Monica with a jerk of her head.

Guilt raged, causing Chandler to fluster, and stutter an apology. "Monica, I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking- I didn't mean to-"

"It's ok," she assured him, though her tone was bordering on sad. "I know you didn't mean anything by it," she added, then pushed off the couch. "I'm going to go to the restroom. I'll be right back."

When she was out of sight, Chandler admonished his actions. "What the hell is the matter with me?!"

"You just made a mistake, Chandler," Rachel told him, adding, "She knows that."

Moving past that, Phoebe added, "What's going on with you two?"

"What do you mean?" Chandler asked, somewhat avoiding the question.

"You know what I mean," Phoebe said to him with a scowl. "You were falling for her, it was **so** obvious. Now, you're acting, I don't know, weird."

Chandler glanced at Joey, who just shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly, before answering. "STDs, Pheebs."

Gasping, Rachel asked, "What does she have?"

"Nothing, yet," he said with a sigh, "But one test is remaining. There's an incubation period, and they have to test again, in six months, to be sure it doesn't show up."

"What STD are we talking about?" Rachel then asked, wincing in anticipation of his answer, but it was Phoebe who spoke next.

"HIV."

Chandler nodded, looking down at his lap. "The big one."

"So, because she could have AIDS, you're not in love with her anymore?" Rachel asked, sounding amazed and doubtful.

"No," he told her, "I'm still in love with her, but, what kind of future could we possibly have, if she's going to die in a few years? Or less?"

"And she could give it to him!" Joey added, worry in his tone.

"There are ways to avoid catching it," Phoebe offered seriously. "And with medications and treatments, people can now live a lot longer than they could before."

"I've thought of all that, Pheebs," Chandler informed her sadly. "But, it's a lot to deal with. I won't abandon her. I will here for her, for as long as she needs or wants me to be, but beyond that--"

"Have you talked to her about this yet?" Phoebe asked, and Chandler shook his head in response. "You need to," she stated firmly. "She must be confused, by your change in behavior.

Chandler shrugged. "I've tried," he near-whispered, ashamed. "I can never seem to find the words."

"Do you want me to talk to her?" Phoebe asked, and he looked over at her in surprise, the expression easing a moment later. Then, he nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he accepted her offer, looking away. "Don't make me out to be as pathetic as I am though," he requested of her.

Smiling, she put her hand on his knee. "You're not pathetic," she assured him. "And I won't make you sound it, trust me."

**TBC**

Author's notes:

Did we honestly think it was going to be easy for our hero couple? Tapping into Chandler's fears of commitment, just from a little different angle. The ride isn't over yet, folks! Stay tuned!

Ok, so, review time! I post a well thought out chapter, you tell me what you think! It's the circle of life! Do I have to sing the song, people? Don't make me sing the song. Just, take a sec and review. It really does mean a lot to me.

Thanks, and MTLBYAKY!


	16. Chapter 15

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 15

**XXX**

--The ceiling offered nothing in the way of answers, or explanations. Phoebe had talked with Monica, she had told him she had, but Monica acted no different. It had been weeks, and still the subject hadn't been discussed. Neither seemed comfortable broaching it. In an attempt to avoid causing her further pain, he left the topic alone, assuming she shirked it for similar reasons.

He'd blown it. Lost her, or at least the chance at a relationship with her, all because he was afraid. He realized, as the weeks ticked past, that he would rather have a relationship full of sacrifices with her, than no relationship at all, but the knowledge came too late. Distancing himself changed things between them. Changed the dynamic of their relationship, and squashed the budding romance that had been developing.

He'd blown it, and he only had himself to blame. If he'd only told her sooner, how he was feeling. If he'd only let her know where he stood. Where **they** stood, then maybe--

Maybe. But he didn't. He wanted to save her from pain. Wanted to save himself from embarrassment. All his avoidance did was screw things up. Deep down he knew, if he could take it back, change it, he would.

The door creaking open sounded ridiculously loud, in the silence of the room, and the noise startled him, causing him to bolt upright.

"Sorry," Monica apologized in a whisper, "Did I wake you?"

Chandler shook his head. "Couldn't sleep."

Nodding, her arms hugging her tiny frame, she muttered, "Me either."

Not knowing what else to say, he asked her, "Anything I can help with?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe we could, talk?" she asked, her gaze planted on the floor, and he nodded, not that she saw the action.

"Ok," he said, sitting up and swinging his legs off the couch, making room for her to join him, but she remained firmly in place.

"I was thinking," she told him, "Somewhere a little more private?" Her eyes met his then, as he craned around to look at her, but his expression showed he wasn't quite following her line of thought. "Like," she added, "In there." She gestured to Chandler's room with a jerk of her head, and comprehension washed over his scowling face.

Saying nothing in response, he nodded before pushing off the couch, standing, and when she began to head for the room, he quickly followed.

He watched as she climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her waist as she sat propped up against the pillows that leaned against the headboard. Then, she only stared back at him as he stood in the center of the room, waiting. For what, he wasn't quite sure.

Was she waiting for him to start the conversation, he wondered? And if she was, what should he say? His questions soon became moot.

"I was wondering," she said with a sigh, "Why did you have Phoebe talk to me, instead of just coming to me yourself?"

He hung his head low, ashamed. "I was afraid."

"Of what?" she asked, scowling back at him.

Shrugging, he whispered, "Of hurting you, mostly."

"Mostly?" she questioned him, her tone implying she wanted him to elaborate.

"I was afraid I'd come off looking like a prick," he admitted, finally braving eye contact.

"Bigger risk of that, having someone else talk **for** you, then if you had just done it yourself," she told him point blank, and he nodded in understanding and agreement.

"I freaked out, ok?" he explained, only weakly defending his actions. "It didn't even dawn on me for some reason," he said, adding, "The whole STDs thing, I mean."

"It dawned on me," she admitted, surprising him. "Do you honestly think I would have put you at risk?" she asked him, sounding offended.

"No," he said truthfully, "I never thought that. But I didn't want to give you hope of a future, if we were unable to have one."

"So," she asked, "If I have something, that's it for us? Or the possibility of us?"

"I don't know," he answered, looking away again and to the floor. "I don't **want** it to be, but I honestly don't know right now."

"Then," she suggested, "Let's start with what you **do** know."

"I know I want to be with you," he admitted hesitantly, adding, "But, I'm scared."

"Of catching something?" she asked, but he shook his head in response. "Of what then?"

"Of falling further, just to lose you," he told her, his voice cracking with emotion.

"But, isn't it better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all?" she asked him, the old cliché ringing true.

"Probably," he returned with a shrug. "It's just, the thought of you dying-"

"Chandler," she interrupted him. "I don't plan on dying anytime soon, ok? We all have to die sometime, I know, but, even if I have HIV, or AIDS, I plan to fight it. I'm not giving up on life so easily," she added, "Not now that I have something to live for."

His head shot up, his eyes searching hers. "Now that you have something to live for?" he asked her, his inflection an obvious request for an explanation.

Smiling, she told him, "You. From the moment you touched me, so gently, I knew."

"What did you know?" he asked nervously, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other.

"That you're the person I want to spend the rest of my life with," she answered. "Whether that be ten years or seventy."

Overwhelmed, he rushed over to her, sitting beside her before gathering her into his arms. "I've fallen in love with you, Monica," he whispered, and she chuckled as she nodded.

"That's good," she whispered back, "Because I'm in love with you, too."

"What happens now?" he asked, still holding her tightly to him.

"Depends," she said as she pulled back, smiling timidly.

"On?" he asked, brushing his fingers across her cheek.

"On what **you** want to happen now," she answered, her eyes drifting closed at the simple contact. "I've been reading up on it, and there are things we can do, to protect you, against catching anything, if I have anything."

"Like?" he asked, cupping her face, his thumb caressing her, dragging softly across her lips.

"Intercourse is risky," she explained, "Even with protection. But, touching is safe. Kissing is too, surprisingly."

"I think I would be nervous about kissing," he admitted. "Even though we already have."

"And the touching?" she asked, her eyes opening to find his.

Sighing, his heart racing, he whispered, "I would like that."

Her smile grew, and she nodded before patting the bed beside her. "Join me?"

Without hesitation, he climbed over her, snuggling in beside her and pulling her into his arms. He immediately began kissing her neck, dancing his fingers feather soft across her abdomen, inching higher.

"I've never done this willingly before." It was as if she had uttered the words without realizing it, and Chandler startled at the softly spoken declaration.

Cautiously, he asked her, "Before Ross did this, you didn't ever have a boyfriend?"

"I was fat all through high school," she explained herself. "I only just lost the weight when my parents died. At that point, I was just too preoccupied to care. Then, Ross' scheme kicked in."

Suddenly, the full magnitude of what she was saying hit him, and he pulled away from her abruptly as he asked, "Monica, you were a virgin that first time Ross locked you in the room?"

There was guilt and shame in her expression as she nodded.

"Oh my God," he whispered, gathering her to him once again. "Not that it matters," he added, then asked, "But did he know that?"

She nodded. "He knew."

Hatred raged inside him, but outwardly, he held her gently, consolingly. "Maybe we shouldn't do this right now," he suggested softly, releasing her when she pulled back to look at him.

"You don't want me now?" she asked him sadly, "Is that it?"

"No, Monica, no," he insisted adamantly, "It's not that. It's just, with all you've been through-" He sighed before telling her, "Maybe we should wait."

"Chandler," she told him, "I've had years to deal with that night, and all that's happened to me. I want this. I want **you**."

It seemed to take an eternity of him searching her eyes for assurances, before he finally whispered, "If you're sure." When she smiled, he knew that was her answer. Slowly inching beneath the hem of her shirt, he gazed into her eyes, till she closed them and sighed.

**TBC**

Author's note:

Technically, the next chapter is/was to be 'R', or 'M', or maybe even 'NC-17', but in the interest of keeping this story rated 'T' and on the main page, that chapter will only be available on my home page. If you are interested in reading that chapter, click on my name above, then, when on my bio page, click the homepage link. It'll be self-explanatory from there. You don't have to read it to follow the story.

Ok, so, does anyone know what time it is?? It's REVIEW TIME! That's right, boys and girls of all ages, it's time to clicky clicky and send a few words my way!

Don't make me give you after school detention!

Man, I'm spending too much time with my daughter at school!

Anyway, review please!

MTLBYAKY


	17. Chapter 17

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 17

**XXX**

--The justice system being what it is, it took just shy of eight months from the date of his arrest for Ross' trial to go before a judge and jury.

Within those eight months, a confident woman appeared, leaving behind the scared waif that she was when under her brother's thumb.

Monica, was a new woman. Slowly starting to heal from the traumas of her past, she moved on to a life that included friends, a job, and most importantly, a boyfriend.

Her relationship with Chandler had an air of hesitancy, in the beginning, but all that changed as soon as the HIV test results came in. Negative.

It seemed like a miracle that, after eight years of rape with all sorts of despicable men, that she would come up clean on every test, but sometimes truth can be stranger than fiction.

They were free to explore and develop their relationship, which they did enthusiastically, the love between them growing to uncontainable bounds. The talk of marriage surprised no one in their close group of friends.

The leaps and bounds of progress was about to be tested though, and they both seemed to realize that as they entered the large grand courthouse.

Arriving thirty minutes sooner than the District Attorney suggested, they waited for over an hour, Chandler sitting on a bench along the wall of the deserted hall just outside the courtroom, his frame slumped, his elbows resting on his knees, as he watched Monica pace out of his peripheral vision.

"Monica," he finally whispered, unable to stand her nervous actions any longer, "Come sit down."

She shook her head, but stopped her purposeless movements. "I'm scared," she admitted, and he stood in response, approaching her and wrapping her in a consoling hug.

"I know," he said with understanding, "But he can't hurt you anymore, ok? Just, don't look at him, when you're up there."

"Yeah," she muttered against his chest, her voice almost child-like in its timidity.

It was a glimpse back at the frightened woman he'd first met. Worriedly, he pushed her at arm's length, gripping her shoulders gently but firmly, staring back at her pointedly.

"Monica, listen to me," he demanded of her in a kind tone. "You can do this! He wouldn't dare try anything! There are too many armed officers here! You're safe from him," he added softly, nodding as if to prove his point.

"I know," she told him, adding, "That's not what I'm worried about."

Confused, he asked as he dropped his hands to his side, "Then, what **are you** worried about?"

She sighed. "He's going to lie about me," she lamented. "He's going to make me sound like a horrible person."

"No one who knows him, or **you**, will believe him," he assured her. "No one who **matters**, will believe him."

Sadness brimmed in her eyes. "So, **you** won't believe him?" she asked him with quiet words, and he realized then, where her thoughts had been. She was afraid that **he** would believe her brother's lies and leave her.

"No," he stated absolutely, "I won't believe him, unless he admits to being pathetic and evil. **That**, I would believe."

"Call for Ms. Geller?" the bailiff asked instantly upon pushing open the large double doors of the courtroom, and Monica stiffened at the sound of her name.

"I'm gonna be front row," Chandler whispered, embracing her quickly and releasing her the same. "If you get nervous, look at me."

She nodded weakly, then they both turned and entered behind the armed court officer.

Heavily, like a death row inmate walks his last mile towards his execution, she headed up the aisle, the judge watching her as she approached the witness stand.

The bailiff that led them into the room seconds before swore her in, and as soon as she took her seat as requested, her eyes fell on Chandler; she looked scared to death.

The judge's authoritative voice startled her when he spoke. "Prosecution may begin."

"Thank you, your Honor," the lawyer said as he stood, then started towards the witness stand and a fidgeting Monica. "Ms. Geller," he addressed her, "Do you know the defendant, Ross Geller?"

As if confused by the question, she scowled as she answered. "Yes."

"And how long have you known him?" the next question came instantly.

"All my life," she answered, adding, "He's my brother."

"How do you get along with your brother, Ms. Geller?"

"I don't," she told him, looking away and at her lap.

"And, why's that?"

"Because," she explained, her scowl deepening, "Up until about eight months ago, he forced me to have sex for money, so he could pay his gambling and drug debts."

"Objection!" the defense attorney seated next to Ross exclaimed, standing as he did. "Unless the witness can show proof of how the alleged money was spent, her statement is opinion, not fact."

"Sustained," the judge agreed, then directed the prosecutor to continue.

"We'll come back to the money issue," the lawyer standing before her said, then asked, "In what way did he force you to have sex with these men?"

"The first time," she shared her story with the room full of strangers hesitantly, "He asked me to have sex with a guy he owed money to. Said if I didn't, the guy would kill him. I told him no, but that just made Ross angry. He grabbed me, pushed me into my room and locked the door from the outside. The guy came in a minute or so later. I tried to get out the door, I tried to fight the guy off, but he just kept hitting me. I was pretty close to unconscious when he started raping me. I started to come to, in the middle of it, and I screamed, but he shoved a pillow over my face to stop me. I couldn't breathe. I blacked out, at some point, cause when I came to, I was alone in the room."

"Ross wouldn't let me out at first," she continued. "He kept telling me, through the door, that if I went to the police, the guy would kill us both. I finally agreed not to say anything, because I didn't want to die, and because I wanted out of my room. The second time, was a few months later. I was in my room, getting ready for bed, and that same guy walked in. I saw Ross shut the door, and I heard it lock. I started screaming immediately, which just pissed the guy off. He back-handed me so hard across the face, it felt like my cheekbone had shattered. He pushed me down on the bed, and ripped my clothes off. I was conscious, but weak from being hit. I was trying to fight him, but I didn't really have the strength. But then, he put his hand on my throat, in a threatening way, and I stopped fighting him cause I didn't want to get choked."

"The **third time**," she sighed, "I just knew it was coming. I couldn't do it again. I was prepared to fight at all costs, but, I didn't just have the one guy to contend with. Ross came in with him. They ganged up on me. Tied me to the bed. Whenever I would try to scream, the guy would start to choke me till I stopped. He raped me for hours. When he left, Ross came in, but he didn't untie me. He left me like that for days, only feeding me bread and water. He wouldn't even let me go to the bathroom. He told me that we could do this as a team, but I refused. He told me, I didn't have a choice. We **were** doing it. With or without my cooperation. He threatened to kill me, if I didn't do what he said. He said he would leave me tied up, stop feeding me, and let me die slowly."

"I had to agree," she cried softly. "I didn't want to die. I had planned to escape at the first opportunity, but he never let me out of his sight, unless I was in with a John. If I did **anything** even slightly off, he would hit me. In time, I just accepted that, I would never get out. Escape. I was trapped."

"And what happened eight months ago to change that?" the attorney asked, and she shrugged before answering.

"I met Chandler," she whispered. "He helped me get away from him. He gave me my life back," she added as she met his eyes, grasping at the long distance comfort he was offering her with his stare.

"Ms. Geller," the prosecutor asked, startling her out of her near-trance, "What happened, the night Ross Geller was arrested?"

Sighing, she answered, "I told him I wanted out. That he needed to let me go. He said he couldn't. He said he needed the money I generated for him. He said he'd kill me, if I left. He grabbed my arm, telling me to get in the car, but I refused, and pulled away from him. He hit me. Back-handed me across the face. If the cops hadnt been there, I believe he would have killed me. Or, at least, beat me severely."

"People's exhibit 11a, the reports from the hospital shows, your Honor, the injuries sustained by Mr. Geller's hand," the attorney told the judge, then turned his attention back to Monica. "Was that the only time your brother mentioned the monies received by him for your services?"

Shaking her head, she said, "No. He's made it perfectly clear to me over the years, what he uses the money for."

"And, what does he use the money for, to your understanding?"

"He used the money to pay off drug and gambling debts," she answered, and the attorney gave her a courteous nod in response.

"No further questions," he announced, and the defense attorney nearly leapt from his seat when he did.

"Ms. Geller," the man addressed her as he approached, "Isn't it true that you and my client were actually working together, as a team in the prostitution you performed?"

"No," she shot back instantly, glaring hard.

"Isn't it true that you actually brought people who were interested in hiring you to meet with your brother?"

"No." Tears began to well in her eyes as she was interrogated.

"That isn't true?" he asked, sounding surprised. "Didn't you introduce a Mr. Chandler Bing to Mr. Geller, telling him that he was interested in spending time with you in exchange for money?"

Flustered, she stammered, "I told **Ross** that, but, he didn't actually- Chandler was only trying to help me- It was part of the plan, to escape."

"But, didn't Mr. Bing pay for **two** separate evenings with you? If it was part of an escape plan, why not escape the first night?"

"We couldn't," she answered. "He was watching us! He was having others watch us!"

"But, your services were offered to Mr. Bing, weren't they?" he asked smugly. "There was proof of the act, in the motel room you both occupied. **Two** used condoms. How do you explain **that**?"

"We didn't have sex," she cried, looking desperately at Chandler; he wanted to run to her, but it being a court of law, he knew he couldn't. He could only watch helplessly as she was forced to endure more pain by means of the lawyer's badgering.

"If you didn't have sex, then how did the used condoms end up in the trash can beside the bed, Ms. Geller?"

A deep blush crept onto her face, and she hung her head as she whispered, "He masturbated, while wearing them, so Ross would **think** we had sex. If he didn't see proof," she added, her voice stronger than before, "He never would have let me see him again!"

The attorney laughed sneeringly. "Mr. Bing masturbated, while wearing a condom, **twice**, while a beautiful prostitute he'd **paid** for was in the same room with him?"

His mockery of Chandler seemed to make her mad, and her eyes narrowed as she snapped back at him. "He did it to help me! Cause I told him if Ross didn't see proof, he would get suspicious, and he would start watching me too closely to make escape possible. Chandler was a perfect gentleman that night! And every night! He has more integrity in a single strand of hair on his head then my brother and **you** combined, have in your entire bodies!"

The lawyer seemed completely unaffected. "Isn't it true, that you and Mr. Bing concocted this whole story, so that **you** could escape prosecution for your part in these crimes?"

"No!" she shouted, anger edging her tone. "That's **not** true!"

They attorney shook his head as he turned away and stepped over to the table Ross sat at, quickly gaining entry into his briefcase. He glanced back over at Monica, then muttered snidely, "I just have one more question for you. If you were being forced to have sex with these men for money, for all these years, as you claim, why then do we have a tape of you, with a man who paid to be with you, showing you to be enjoying it?"

**TBC**

Author's note:

You don't need to read chapter 16 to follow the story, because it was strictly a smut chapter. Because of its content, that chapter is on my webpage only. Please feel free to go over there and read it, if you want, but if NC-17 material offends you, or if you are under age, then don't worry, you didn't miss any pertinent information.

Just know, Monica and Chandler took their relationship to the next level, safely, with precautionary measures, just in case she **was** HIV positive.

Ok, so, you know what happens now. **Now**, I shamelessly beg for reviews. C'mon, I've been dutifully updating this story for you guys, I only want a few words in return. It won't kill you, I promise, and it'll make me beyond ecstatic! I know, I'm pathetic.

MTLBYAKY


	18. Chapter 18

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 18

**XXX**

--Total shock prevented her from reacting, at first, but that lasted seconds only.

"You taped me?!" Monica screamed at her brother. "You **taped** me?! What kind of sick bastard **are** you?! Haven't you done enough to me?!"

It wasn't until the judge banged his gavel that she realized, he was calling her name, insisting she calm herself. "If you cannot control your outbursts, Ms. Geller," he said to her, "I will be forced to find you in contempt of court."

Chandler inched out of his seat, leaning over the railing to catch the prosecutor's attention. "What the hell is **this** about?" he asked, but the lawyer just shook his head as his colleague searched through documents.

"I don't know," he whispered back. "There is no mention of tapes. Sit back," he then demanded of him, standing and calling an objection. "Your Honor, there are no tapes mentioned on the submitted evidence list. Defense counsel is aware that all evidence is to be disclosed before the start of trial."

"We weren't submitting the tape as evidence," the defense attorney responded. "We only brought it here today, to ask the question."

"I will allow the question, but the tape is not admissible," the judge ruled, and Ross' lawyer seemed to almost gloat as he looked over at Monica, awaiting her answer.

When she didn't speak up for several seconds, he asked snidely, "Did you need me to repeat the question?"

She glared back at him hard, then sighed before saying, "About three years ago, there was this John, that had complained to Ross. He said, I just lied there, like a dead fish. Ross got pissed. Told me, if I didn't act like I was enjoying it, if I lost him the customer, he would beat me. I tried a couple times, but, I just couldn't. I couldn't act like I was enjoying something, so, horrific. I didn't even know sex **could** be enjoyable," she whispered shyly, "Until a few months ago."

Her eyes slowly sought Chandler's, smiling slightly when they met. Mouthing the words 'I love you', he smiled back at her, conveying the sentiment in his crystal blue stare.

Ross' attorney turned away, heading back for his client, muttering, "No further questions," and with that, Monica was dismissed. Like a train wreck you have to glance at, she stole a peek at Ross as she left the stand and stepped towards the aisle, where Chandler was waiting for her. Ross sneered at her, as if trying to intimidate her one last time from his powerless position, and she quickly averted her eyes, welcoming Chandler's arm around her as they left the courtroom.

Once out in the hall, she burst into tears, and Chandler held her tightly, allowing her to sob, consoling her with softly spoken words.

"We knew he would try something like that," he reminded her. "He's a pathetic man, looking to shift the blame for his own heinous crimes."

She nodded against his chest, whimpering, "He taped me, Chandler. Why would he **do** something like that?" she cried. "What kind of sick bastard wants to watch his own sister?! And, who else has he shown them to?"

"Try not to think about it," he told her, stroking her hair. "Put it out of your head, ok? Soon," he added assuredly, "This will all be a sick distant memory."

"But still a memory," she countered sadly.

"True," he acknowledged, pulling back and initiating eye contact, "But, ya'know, you can't keep letting him victimize you, Monica. Don't give him the satisfaction of thinking on it for even one second longer than you need to, to cope and move on. And you **can** move on," he insisted, grasping her shoulders, rubbing his thumbs up and down comfortingly. "And you know I'll help," he added, "In any way I can."

Weakly, she smiled. "I know."

"You know what," he said, kissing her quickly before taking her hand in his, leading her away towards the exit, "Let's go get a tea and a muffin or something and talk, ok? Just the two of us."

She smirked. "At Central Perk, it certainly won't be just the two of us."

"We'll tell the others we need time alone," he offered, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "They'll respect that."

Sighing, she told him, "I'm just not ready to answer their questions yet, ya'know? I will. I know they care about me, and want to know what happened, but, I just can't face it yet."

"You don't have to," he assured her. "We'll worry about it tomorrow, or in a few days. Today," he added, "Just relax and regroup."

Nodding first, she changed the subject slightly. "Do you think they'll find him guilty, for what he did to me?"

"Not sure," he said with a shrug, "But if they don't, they always have him on the assault charge. The police themselves witnessed that."

"But, that won't carry much of a jail sentence," she guessed; the worry in her tone left him with no doubt as to what her concerns were.

"Don't dwell on that right now, ok?" he asked of her, almost firmly. "Let's just see what happens."

She nodded as if in agreement, but the way she clutched at his hand told him, her actions were for his benefit alone. Not only would she dwell, he surmised, but she would allow it to eat away at her to the point of panic, if he didn't stop her.

"I swear," he whispered, freeing his hand from hers and wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close as they exited the courthouse onto the street, "If he spends one night in jail or hundreds, if and when he gets out, if he shows up looking for you, I'll kill him before I'll let him hurt you."

There was no question – his tone left zero doubt. He was deadly serious.

**XXX**

--As was to be expected, their friends jumped up and towards them as soon as Chandler and Monica entered Central Perk, bombarding them with questions. Politely as possible, Chandler put them off, suggesting Monica go to the restroom. He'd order her tea and muffin for her, and find a table in the back for them to occupy. Sighing, she agreed, and it was only after she disappeared behind the door with the triangle and white silhouetted woman on it, that he addressed them briefly and quietly.

"It didn't go to well," he filled them in quickly. "They accused her of being partners with him. Turns out, Ross taped her." When everyone gasped, he added, "Fortunately, they weren't allowed to show the tape. But knowing now that he did that has her really upset. She doesn't want to talk about any of this right now, guys, ok? She just wants to spend some alone time with me. Talk through some stuff. Try to move past it."

"We'll make ourselves scarce," Phoebe promised, Joey simply nodding along.

"Thanks," he said to them as a whole, then turned to Rachel. "Could you get her a cup of herbal tea and a banana nut muffin, please?"

"Sure," she agreed easily, since it was, after all, her job, then she asked him, "And what do you want?"

"Coffee," he said with a shrug, then stood a little taller when he saw the woman's restroom door swing open.

He approached an empty table towards the back, pointing at it as he did, and she nodded as she headed for it as well, beating him to it by seconds.

"They're going to give us some privacy," he told her, and she nodded as she looked away. "You ok?" he then asked, knowing she wasn't, knowing why without second guesses, but he had to start somewhere, if he was going to get her to open up to him.

"As ok as I can be," she answered, "Under the circumstances."

"Talk to me," he requested, reaching across and taking her hand in his.

"About what?" she asked, a distance to her tone of voice.

He shot her a sideways glance. "Anything. Ross. Him taping you. Him lying in court. Us. Santa Claus. Fat free snack crackers. Just," he added with a sigh, "Talk to me."

"I don't think the charges are gonna stick," she eventually muttered, her gaze everywhere but on him.

"The assault charge will," he returned without doubt, hoping to offer her some comfort.

She scoffed. "That won't get him jail time," she stated as if known fact. "He'll get off with time served, since he's been in jail this whole time, awaiting trial."

"How do you know so much about it?" he asked curiously, scowling slightly back at her. It was then that Rachel approached with their order, and Chandler thanked her before she quickly walked away.

"There was this hooker I met, about two years back," she explained to him. "Ross was late picking me up, and she was working the corner I happened to be standing on while waiting. She was pissed at first. Thought I was claiming her turf, but after I told her the deal, she chilled. We got to talking. Her pimp had been arrested for battery at some point, the John who was trying to solicit her saw it and called 9-1-1. He even had a record, which Ross doesn't, surprisingly enough. Even with previous offenses, the guy got two months. Ross has been in jail for eight! If that's all they find him on, he'll walk out as soon as the trial is over."

"And he **will** come after me," she added gravely.

Chandler shook his head. "There's a restraining order against him. He can't come within-"

Monica chuckled grimly, interrupting him. "He's broken a million laws, Chandler! He won't care about that little slip of paper, **believe** me."

"Then we'll move," he suggested. "Disappear! I'll sell Central Perk, and we'll just, uproot and start over somewhere else."

"He'll keep looking till he finds me, Chandler," she assured him as she shook her head. "I'm on borrowed time here."

"So, then, what?" he asked, almost scolding her. "You're just gonna give up? Stand before him and let whatever is going to happen, happen?"

"No," she whispered, "I'm gonna run from him, I just- I just don't think I should have, **company**, when I do it."

What she was implying became crystal clear. "Monica." He said her name softly, squeezing her hand a bit tighter to gain her attention. "Do you love me?"

Nodding, she choked out around her tears, "Yes. That's why I have to let you go."

"Monica, you don't have to do this!" he shot at her. "We can get through this together! Just like the HIV scare!"

That day at the clinic, he would never forget. She was so scared, pacing the doctor's small office, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, tears slipping down her cheeks as she imagined the worst case scenario. She had welcomed his love and support **then**.

"You don't have to run from HIV," she told him. "If you have it, you face it and seek treatment and live each day to the fullest. **This**," she added, "Is different. This is always running. Always looking over your shoulder. I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking," he reminded her. "I'm offering. No," he added sternly, "I'm not just offering, I'm **insisting**! I **love you**, Monica, and I'm not letting that **jerk** take you away from me!"

"You would be willing to give everything up for me?" she asked, sounding surprised and a bit disbelieving.

"Willing, yes," he answered, "But I'm not giving up without a fight! And neither are you! I won't let you! I won't let you give up on yourself, or **us**! We're gonna take this one day at a time," he said to her, releasing her hand and inching his chair closer to hers. "Together! Deal?" he asked, and slowly, eventually, she nodded. "Promise me," he demanded of her, and again she nodded, smiling when he did.

Relieved by her affirmative response, he leaned in and kissed her, his hand cradling her head. "Don't talk like that again, please," he whispered against her lips pleadingly. "I couldn't bear to lose you."

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'm just scared."

"Then, lean on me," he said as he wrapped his arms around her. "Don't push me away."

Sighing, she muttered, "He can still ruin my life, even when he's not in it."

"Only if you let him," he returned, continuing to hold her, stroking her hair. "Pushing me away to **save** me from **him**, that gives him the power to continue to victimize you!"

"I don't want to push you away," she admitted, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "I don't know why I said it. I just, I don't want you to get hurt. Ross hates you too, I'm sure. Since you helped me."

"I'm not afraid of him, Monica," he told her, adding, "And I wish you weren't either. But I understand why you are."

"Do you think, his threats were just idle?" she asked, sounding curious and even a little scared of what his answer would be.

"I'm not sure," he stated softly, forming his words carefully. If he told her he thought her brother's threats were idle, it could give her false hope that she was safe from him and what he was possibly capable of doing. If he said they weren't, it would certainly scare her. Not knowing Ross well enough to know for absolute, he spoke in generalities. "I think they might be. I mean, he's, well, hit you, before," he said haltingly, trying not to upset her, "So, I don't think that much is an empty threat. But, I think him threatening to kill you might be."

He could feel her trembling in his arms. "You really believe he'll kill you, don't you?" he asked, and she nodded against him. "Maybe I should go buy a gun," he suggested, and she pulled back, staring into his eyes, shock in her expression. "Is that a bad idea?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know if I'd feel safer with some deadly weapon in the house."

"How would you feel safer then?" he asked her, and she shrugged in response.

"I would feel safer," she answered, leaning back into his embrace, "If he was in jail. For-- Forever."

**TBC**

Author's note:

I don't know a lot about court stuff, except for the little bit I was exposed to a few years ago, when my now ex-husband was going through legal issues, so I hope the courtroom stuff came off as believable.

We're nearing the end now. I had plans to do a Chanoey fic after this one, but the concept I initially had is too weak to make an entire story work, so, I need to rethink things on that. I don't have another concept at this time, but I'm working on that. I will be focusing on finishing my Caroline in the City story first, which shouldn't take too much longer, my muse willing, then, I am hoping to be able to come up with some new ideas. Keep watching for new stuff from me!

Please, review.

MTLBYAKY


	19. Chapter 19

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 19

**XXX**

--The news wasn't completely unexpected, but it carried the same impact. Monica was near inconsolable, clinging to Chandler, Joey watching from his seat on the barstool near the counter that separated kitchen from livingroom. It was the verdict they were dreading. Ross was found not guilty on all charges except for the assault charge, meaning he was released near-immediately, which was the very scenario Monica had been afraid of.

"He's going to kill me," Monica cried, beyond distraught. "He knows where I am! He knows I'm here with you!"

"The restraining order is still in effect," he whispered, his tone in complete contrast to hers, calm and quiet.

"He won't care!" she shot back. "He always said, if I escaped, or went to the police, he'd kill me. He'll do it, just for the principal of the thing!"

"I won't let him hurt you, Monica," he assured her. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"You can't watch me twenty-four seven, for the rest of my life," she countered, her face still buried in his shoulder.

"Yes, I can. And if that's what it takes," he returned with complete seriousness, "Then I will do exactly that."

Heavily, she sighed, seeming to relax slightly in his arms. "I am completely amazed by you," she whispered, sniffling as her tears fell, unchecked. "You are so wonderful, and kind, and gentle-"

"We're not that rare," he told her, adding, "Ross just never let you meet such people." She instantly tensed. "Why don't we go away," he quickly suggested when he felt her stiffen in his arms. "Just the two of us, huh? We'll hide away for a couple weeks, and won't tell anyone where we're going."

"Really?" she asked, surprised, pulling back, a tiny smile inching onto her face as she stared into his eyes.

"Really," he answered, smiling as he kissed her lips briefly. "I'll make all the arrangements, ok? Why don't you go take a nice hot bath," he then said to her. "Try to relax a little. We'll leave as soon as you're done."

Agreeing easily, she kissed him before heading for the bathroom, and Chandler just watched as she disappeared behind the door, then turned to face a silent Joey, their eyes locking.

"Intense," Joey muttered, and Chandler sighed as he nodded in agreement, moving to grab the phonebook from under the counter. "Do you really think this guy is gonna come after her?" he asked, and Chandler shrugged as he started flipping through the yellowpages.

"I don't know," he answered, "But I know **Monica** thinks he will. **That's** what I'm focusing on for now. How to help her through this."

"Why don't we just go find the guy and beat the shit out of him?" Joey asked, making a fist and punching it into his hand.

Chandler glanced up at him, his attention still on his task. "I appreciate the offer, Joe, but I don't think that's the answer. Us going to jail won't help the situation."

"And running off to somewhere **will** help?" Joey asked him, sounding as if he didn't quite feel the plan Chandler had opted for to be a good idea.

"We're not **running**, Joe," Chandler returned, locating what he was searching for and grabbing the cordless phone off the base. "We're just taking a break from it all. She needs to get her mind off things."

"Ok, so, where are you going then?" Joey asked, conceding.

Chandler shook his head. "I meant what I said to Monica. Just to err on the side of caution, I'm not telling anyone where we're going."

"Who's gonna run CP while you're gone?" Joey then asked, curious.

"Rachel and Gunther can handle it," Chandler answered distractedly, dialing in the number, then said to him, "I'm going to take this in my room, ok?"

Joey nodded simply, and Chandler gave his friend a pat on the back before disappearing into his room to make the arrangements for his and Monica's trip.

**XXX**

--The small Vermont inn, nestled in rustic surroundings was perfect in its beauty and seclusion. A four-poster bed sat situated beneath a large bay window, their view the setting sun beyond an orchard that deer frequented, to graze on fruit that had fallen from the trees. Matching antique furniture completed the countrified ambiance, the drapes, wallpaper, and ornate light fixtures bringing to mind something from the late Victorian era.

Monica finally seemed to relax as she took in its warmth and grace. "I love it," she whispered, smiling as they took steps towards each other. "I love **you**," she added, and his grin widened as he took her into his arms.

"I love you, too, Monica," he whispered back, his lips finding hers in a brief tender kiss. "I'm sorry the court thing didn't turn out better," he said softly, carefully, and she looked away for a moment before initiating eye contact once again.

"I don't want to think about that now," she told him, her stare intense before her eyes drifted closed, leaning into him. The kiss that followed turned passionate near-instantly, hands exploring for entrances in encumbering clothing, fingers tantalizing bare skin. When he cupped her breast, she smiled against his lips, suggesting, "I think it's time we break in the bed."

Agreeing, he moved them both towards it slowly, climbing in upon reaching it; their lips never parted. Clothes were shed without concern, allowing them to land wherever they wished to, the love that followed exciting and consoling, tender and frantic, perfect in its contrasts.

--Naked, content, and sweaty, they held each other, basking in the afterglow of their union, comfortable with the silence of the room. Speech wasn't necessary, but eventually, the need to share prompted a break in the stillness.

"Every time you touch me," she whispered, "I feel like I'm flying. Floating. I don't ever want to land," she added, snuggling deeper against him.

Pulling her to him, he accepted her attempts to get closer, wanting to be to her as well. Wanting to drown in her. "You're flying, and I'm falling," he said softly into her hair. "Falling further in love, if that were even possible."

"How did this even happen?" she asked. "It seemed to happen **so fast**."

"I don't know how it happened," he answered, nuzzling into her hair, "I just thank God it did."

The phone ringing caused Monica to jump, and while Chandler startled as well, it was obvious that even though their reactions were similar, they were for different reasons.

"Oh, God," Monica whispered, bolting upright and out of Chandler's arms. "He found me. He's just calling, to be sure before he comes here to kill me."

"Relax," Chandler soothed, stroking her back for a moment, then reached past her to the bedside table. "No one knows we're here. I just gave Rachel the number, just in case she needed to ask me anything about the coffeehouse." That didn't seem to put her much at ease.

"Hello?" he said into the phone, then the room fell silent as he listened. Seconds later, his serious expression changed to shock and horror. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed, asking, "Is he ok?" He listened again, then nodded. "We're on our way."

Hanging up the phone, he buried his face in his hand, whispering, "That was Rachel. Something very bad has happened."

That much being obvious, Monica nodded.

"A few hours ago, Ross showed up at the apartment, looking for you," he told her carefully, dropping his hands to his lap. "Joey confronted him, and, there was a struggle. Monica," he said as he faced her, "Ross is dead."

Tears pooled and slipped down her cheeks as she nodded. "Joey?" she asked, her voice failing; it was all she could say.

"He's going to be ok," he assured her. "It was a superficial wound." The needed moment of silence ended when he added, "It's complete chaos over there right now. I told Rachel we'd hurry back."

Nodding in agreement, Monica threw herself into Chandler's arms, choking out past tears, "I'm sorry Joey got mixed up in this."

He embraced her fiercely, whispering, "I'm sorry about your brother."

"He did it to himself," she said flatly. "I'm just grateful it was him and not Joey."

As hard as it was for her, he assumed, to learn of her brother's death, Chandler was slightly relieved. He couldn't hurt her anymore.

It was over.

**XXX**

--The car ride home saw little more than complete silence for most of the trip. Knowing she would open up when she was ready, Chandler didn't push for conversation.

Finally, eventually, her voice quiet, she spoke up. "He wasn't always horrible, you know." Chandler glanced over at her before returning his eyes to the road. "I remember, when we were little, he would dress up in women's clothing, from this old trunk that was up in the attic, and play make-believe tea party with me." She cracked the tiniest of smiles when telling the story.

"Is that what you need right now?" he asked her, glancing over at her again briefly. "To remember the good times?"

"I think so," she returned with a shrug, her gaze fixed on the road ahead of them.

Gently, he took her hand in his, offering a small smile as he whispered, "I'm listening."

Sighing, she continued. "I remember this one time..."

Chandler allowed her to grieve in her own way, listening supportively to every story she shared. People grieve in different ways, he mused, silently to himself. She needed to remember a happier time with the man that later traumatized her. When their parents had died, Ross' grief turned to substance abuse and vices, trying to cope in unhealthy ways, or, probably better put, avoid coping at all.

Those poor choices changed the man from a loving though somewhat annoying big brother, into a man that could traumatize his little sister without regard or regret. Chandler wondered, if their parents had not died, how different would things be?

How would things be, now that Ross was dead? He'd played the knight in shining armor role since the moment he'd met her. How would their relationship change, now that she no longer needed protecting?

Only time would tell.

**XXX**

--The graveyard was near-empty, and the cold mist that lingered seemed fitting of the mood. Clad in black, the only people in attendance were Monica, Chandler, Phoebe, Rachel, and Joey, the company Ross kept towards the end of his life being criminal types with little sympathy for their fallen comrade.

Monica stepped up to the casket, Chandler supportively by her side, their friends hanging back to give her some privacy.

"Were you ever sorry you did this to me?" she asked the laminated wood of the coffin lid. "Did you ever regret the pain you caused me?"

Slowly, Chandler wrapped his arm around her, offering her comfort. "If there was a glimmer of the person he used to be, that you told me about still in him, he did."

Nodding slightly, she wiped at her tears, turning to lean against his body.

"Let's go home," he suggested in a whisper, and she nodded once again.

"I'm ready," she said, gazing up at him, trying for a smile through her pain. "Let's go home."

**The End**

Author's note:

Ok, well, that's pretty much it. What did we think?

If I get enough reviews, I will post an epilogue chapter. So, if you want to see how things wrap up for Mondler and the gang, clicky, clicky and let me know!

MTLBYAKY


	20. Chapter 20

The One With Rough Seas

By: Jana

Chapter 20 – Epilogue

**XXX**

--The after-work crowd of coffee drinkers had started to make their way into Central Perk, whether for the coffee, the award winning pastries, or the eccentric music was uncertain. Through the speckled crowd, Monica entered the main room with purpose, sporting an apron, flour dotting her face.

"Rachel!" she exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips and exhaling sharply, "Could you **please** tell your boyfriend to get out from underfoot? I'm trying to bake masterpieces!"

The guilty party stepped from behind his accuser, and Rachel smiled as he came into view. "Gunther," she scolded teasingly, watching as his head hung in mock shame, "You know Monica likes to cook solo."

"The cookies were still warm! Right out of the oven!" he explained himself, his slight smirk indicating that he wasn't at all sorry for his crime. "The chocolate blobbies all gooey and melty! I only took one," he added, almost as if an afterthought, feigning remorse.

Startling noticeably, Joey's head shot up from the magazine he had been glancing through. "Uhn! I want warm chocolate blobby cookies!" he whined at Monica, causing her to smile at his boyish outburst.

"Help yourself, Hero," she told him, using the nickname she had given him on the night her brother died.

And while Ross was directly responsible for his own death, the title bestowed upon Joey seemed fitting, since he was the one who confronted the intruder and would-be murderer. During the struggle to get the gun away from Ross, Joey turned it away from himself, but it was Ross who pulled the trigger, not realizing his own gun was pointed back at him.

Excited, Joey's face lit up, and he quickly pushed off the couch, bolting in a near-run towards the kitchen in the back.

"But just **one**!" Monica called after him. "You guys keep eating up all of Chandler's profits!"

"Hello, children of all ages," Chandler announced himself as he entered, immediately locking eyes with Monica. The expression he wore as he approached was like a little boy up to no good.

"What are you up to?" she questioned him with a sideways glance and a smirk, and his smile grew impish in response.

"Did you honestly think I'd forgotten what today is?" he asked her, plunging his right hand into his pants pocket, removing it just as quickly.

Producing a small velvet box, he held it out to her, and her eyes moved from his, to the box, then back again.

"Don't you want to give this to me tonight?" she asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

He shook his head. "I have a different gift planned for tonight," he said in a low seductive tone, extending the box further towards her, subtly requesting she take it from him.

Slowly, she relieved him of the item, inching it open, the hinge creaking as what was inside came into view.

The white gold bracelet shimmered against black velvet, and she gasped at its elegance.

"It's a charm bracelet," he explained proudly, pleased by her reaction. "Every year, I will buy you a new charm to add to it."

"What if we're married fifty years?" she asked, to which he glared back jokingly.

"What **if**?" he challenged, humor edging his tone, and she smirked as she rolled her eyes.

"Ok," she corrected, "What happens on our fiftieth? Or our thirtieth, for that matter? I won't be able to lift my arm!"

Laughing, he told her, "I think it only holds, like, twelve charms at one time. But they're removable!" he added enthusiastically. "You can **choose** which charms to wear!"

Touched by the sweet romantic gesture, she smiled back at him before giving the bracelet her full attention, admiring it.

"It's a lion cub," he told her, adding, "Cause lions are courageous and strong. Like you."

"Ah, symbolism," she teased, and he smirked before plucking the piece of jewelry out of the box and holding it up, silently requesting permission to put it on her.

When she extended her arm, he clasped the bracelet in place around her wrist. "I love it," she whispered, and he smiled as he brushed the flour off the end of her nose, then leaned in for a kiss.

"Best blobby cookies yet!" Joey exclaimed as he entered the room, mumbling as he chewed, and Chandler and Monica smiled against each other's lips at the slight intrusion.

"Hey, Chandler," Phoebe asked immediately upon stepping through the front door, "Did you want Mike to set up karaoke after my set tonight."

"Sure!" Chandler answered, extending his hand towards the man that was two steps behind his arriving friend. "Hey, Mike, how's married life treating you?"

"Good," Mike said as he shook hands with Chandler, smiling warmly at Phoebe before asking him, "How's it treating you?"

"It's treating me like royalty," Chandler answered, slipping an arm around Monica, pulling her into his side and kissing her temple affectionately.

"Pheebs!" Joey abruptly called to her, somewhat interrupting them. "I need to borrow your guitar!"

Skeptically, Phoebe asked, "Why?"

"Estelle got me another audition!" he announced excitedly. "_Men__s__trual at subway entrance_!"

"Joe," Chandler laughed, "Don't you mean **minstrel**?"

"What's the difference?" Joey asked with a scowl of confusion.

"One, you're a wandering musician," Chandler explained with a barely contained smile of amusement. "The other, you're a woman on her period."

Joey pulled a face of disgust, muttering, "The first thing you said."

"Joey," Phoebe called his name, requesting his attention, "You don't know how to play the guitar."

"Not yet," Joey replied, immediately suggesting, "Maybe you could teach me!"

Sighing, Phoebe asked with a tone of uncertainty, "When's the audition?"

"Thursday," Joey answered, wincing when Phoebe screeched in response.

"In two days?! I can't teach you in two days!"

"Could you teach him to menstruate in two days?" Mike joked, and while Chandler laughed, Phoebe glared over at him.

"You lied on your resume again, didn't you?" Rachel asked, involving herself in the conversation, and Joey pouted as he nodded.

"I had to!" he insisted defensively. "I **really** want this part!"

"I can try, Joey," Phoebe reluctantly signed on to the task, "But I don't know how good you'll be by Thursday."

"Maybe if you push the audition back to Friday," Mike suggested humorously, and Phoebe glared at him again for the wisecrack.

"You and Chandler oughta get together and go bowling," she snipped sarcastically, a slight smile letting everyone, including Mike know that she was just playing with him, then she abruptly grabbed Joey's arm, announcing, "No time to lose. We need to start **now**."

As Phoebe led Joey aside, Rachel asked Monica, "Are the chocolate blobby cookies ready for sale yet?"

Nodding, Monica added, "Just keep Gunther away from them!"

Gunther happened to be crossing nearby, on his way to a table with a customer's order. "I heard that," he said flatly, and Monica smirked over at him.

"Well, I said it loud," she teased, adding, "Next batch, I'll make a few extra, just for you."

Gunther beamed as he walked away, causing Chandler and Monica to smile back at one-another.

"Can you take a break?" Chandler asked her, his grin slipping slightly, "Or do you have some pressing pastry business to attend to?"

"I've got a few minutes," she answered, gesturing towards the couch, and they both sat down before she asked, "What's up?"

After pausing in thought, Chandler finally asked, "Are you happy?"

"With the gift?" Monica asked, adding quickly in response, "Of course I am-"

"No," Chandler somewhat interrupted. "I mean, I'm glad you like it, but, that's not what I was referring to. I was just wondering," he started again, "If, **I**, make you happy."

Smiling, she brushed her fingers across his cheek, whispering, "Every day. Why do you ask?"

"It's just, I was your first and only **real** boyfriend," he explained himself, shrugging his shoulders as he looked away. "Now husband. I was just wondering if-"

When he stopped abruptly, his question incomplete, she cupped his face in her hand, gently and silently demanding he meet her eyes. "What, Chandler?" she asked him, encouraging him to continue.

"Do you have any regrets?" he asked with a sigh, and she immediately shook her head, slowly and deliberately.

"None," she assured him. "You?"

He shook his head. "No," he answered, sliding his hand into her hair, bringing her in for a kiss.

"I think you're really going to like your present," she whispered against his lips, and he cocked his eyebrow, smiling slyly.

"Oh, yeah?" Nuzzling against her neck, he murmured, "I'm sure I will."

"Chandler," she sighed, her eyes drifting closed, enjoying his attentions a little more than she probably should given that they were in a very public place. "I have to get back to work. Wouldn't want the boss to fire me," she added jokingly, and he chuckled against the soft skin near the hallow of her shoulder.

"Oh, believe me," he whispered, continuing to brush his lips against her aroused skin, "He won't."

"I'm almost done," she promised him, her fingers raking into his hair in approval of his teasing affection. "And then I'll be hanging up my apron, and our anniversary can officially begin."

Groaning in slight disappointment, he pulled back, smiling as he apologized. "Sorry. You have that effect on me."

"Ditto," she laughed, pushing off the couch. "I'll be right back." She ruffled his hair, then smirked impishly before turning and walking away, back towards the kitchen.

With a sigh of contentment, Chandler leaned back, resting against the back of the couch, his eyes wandering the room. His gaze landed on Gunther and Rachel, standing over by the counter, engaged in conversation.

"Again?" Rachel asked. "You go to the beauty parlor more than me!"

"Hair stylist," Gunther corrected defensively, adding, "Keeping my hair this blonde takes effort!"

Chandler smiled and looked away, his eyes then drifting over to where Phoebe and Joey stood.

"No, Joseph," Phoebe huffed impatiently, "I don't know the real names of the chords! I just name them for how my hand looks when I'm playing them!"

Sighing, Joey muttered, "Hope they don't ask then."

Mike rolled his eyes at his wife's odd teaching style, and Chandler couldn't help but grin when he caught it.

For most of his adult life, Chandler's existence had been simple. Unexciting. Boring. Until the day the woman of his dreams entered his coffeehouse and changed everything.

His mundane hum drum existence had been replaced, with love and excitement, and for a while, fear and turmoil, though they had left that behind them well over a year ago.

What he was left with was a life rich with friends, and a wife who adored him, and whom he adored with every ounce of his being. Life before her, he could scarcely remember, a future without her, was unfathomable.

About the time that realization hit him, he proposed marriage, which was only a couple months after her brother's death. Ross' end, however, wasn't the problem free solution Chandler had hoped it would be.

Though it seemed to dwindle in intensity and frequency as the months ticked by, Monica lamented over the lack of closure. She often wondered if time in prison would have brought her brother some sort of clarity, and maybe even a sense of remorse, but since he was released so quickly, and died so suddenly, those questions would forever remain unanswered.

"I got the sheet music for _Endless Love_." Mike's voice ripped Chandler from his thoughts, almost to the point of startling him, but he smiled politely even so. "You guys gonna stick around and do a duet?"

Chandler nodded, pushing off the couch and joining him at the step up from the main floor by the large window, which was used as a stage of sorts when Phoebe performed or karaoke was offered. "For a little bit, yeah. Thanks for getting that for her. She loves that song."

"No problem," he muttered somewhat distractedly as he set his keyboard up and out of the way. "**Do you** bowl?" he then asked, and Chandler scowled, as the question seemed to come from nowhere.

"No," he answered. "Why?"

"Before? Phoebe suggested we go bowling," Mike reminded, smirking.

Chandler laughed. "I think she was trying to be funny," he offered, causing Mike to scoff.

"'Trying' being the operative word there," Mike quipped, glancing over at his wife, who was glowering back at him. "I think she heard me," he whispered to Chandler, who jokingly pretended to be worried for him.

"I may not be funny," she snipped playfully, "But I can **hear** just fine!"

When Mike moved to gather her into his arms, whispering words of apology, Chandler smiled and stepped away, back to the couch to give them some privacy.

Life **is** what you make of it, Chandler thought to himself, beyond happy with how his was turning out. The rough seas were behind them, he was sure of it. Ahead, smooth sailing.

**The End**

Author's note:

That's it, folks. Sorry the epilogue chapter took so long. The holidays had me sidetracked. Now, just because this is the end doesn't mean you don't have to review. I mean, you don't **have** to review, but I would really appreciate it if you did.

I have a new fic in concept, and you should be seeing the prologue chapter up for it soon. It'll also be Mondler, since I can't seem to make the Chanoey fic I was originally thinking about doing work.

To answer Venused's review: The burden of proof lies with the prosecutor, and if there is even the slightest doubt of guilt, a jury must find not guilty. Since Monica didn't want to drag others into the situation, like past Johns and such, they really only had her word against his, with no real proof. I thought of dragging Chandler onto the stand, but my original ideas for this story was to have Ross meet this end, so, I stayed with that. Sorry if it seemed unbelievable.

Many thanks to my daughter, Juli, for her assistance with this chapter, and her inspiration in general throughout this fic. She is an amazing writer, and her strong abilities where mine lack was of great help to me. She has her writings and art work up on devianart, if you want to go check her out! Do a search for username: JunkoTsukashima

Thanks for reading, and MTLBYAKY


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